


Should've Known I Was Weaker From the Start

by sky_reid



Series: The Walls of My Town, They Come Crumbling Down [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adult Content, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Bisexuality, Character Study, Childhood, Community: paperlegends, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Insecurity, M/M, Nightmares, Permanent Injury, Psychological Trauma, Realistic, Sexual Tension, Teaching, To Be Continued, University, elena may have a crush, how am i supposed to tag it????, i'm not actually sure if it's resolved or not, implied alcoholism, implied recreational use of light drugs, jesus christ i don't even remember what i wrote anymore, merlin is not a pure moral perfect little human, minor canon character deaths, of various levels and natures, partially at least, pendragon siblings are fun to write, very loose definition of truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:56:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is a guilt-ridden paraplegic who doesn't know how to do relationships, until he meets Merlin while they're both attending university, and his life changes. At least until they go their separate ways.</p><p>Years later, they run into each other again and things aren't going quite according to anyone's plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Known I Was Weaker From the Start

**Author's Note:**

> wow that summary sounds really cheerful (if you're looking for cheerful, _run_ )
> 
> title(s) from mumford and sons' song _babel_
> 
> okay, so, this is me cutting it close on one more fic fest so what's new about that but anyway, this story is part of a series - you don't _need_ to have read the first part in order to follow this one, but it would preferable. also following my (intentional) switches between tenses (that follow switches between story lines shhhh run with it) might confuse you in the beginning but it will get clearer with time, i promise (i think)
> 
> there are some thanks in order, i believe: first and foremost to everyone who made this ficathon happen in the first place (we love you the_muppet); to my lovely artist dahlia94 who, i believe, hates me now after having worked with me, but has nonetheless created some awesome art that y'all should totally [check out](http://dahlia94.livejournal.com/13082.html); to my beta and awesomest friend in the world, kay, because she's just the best ever; to aino, who has figured out a method to make me write, bless her; and last but not least, to everyone else to whom i've bitched and complained over the past months for dealing with me (alexa, mims, jacqui, heidi, beth and everyone else i'm forgetting right now)
> 
> i... think that's it??? ~~i'll see you all when i change my mind lmao~~

 

 

_Should've Known I Was Weaker From the Start_

 

~*~

 

_part 1: 'cause i know that time has numbered my days_

 

_~*~_

 

Arthur gripped at the arm of his teddy bear and quietly opened the door to his parents' bedroom. He climbed onto their bed and crawled in between them. They didn't wake up. As he laid his head on the pillow, his mother came closer and hugged him. He fell asleep.

 

_~*~_

 

The letter arrives in the mail. They hardly ever get mail anymore, almost everything they need is sent to them through e-mail, so when George tells him a letter has arrived and hands him a proper envelope, Arthur is stunned for a moment. It takes him too long to recognize the crest printed in red under the hand-written address.

 

~*~

 

It was a sunny, warm day and the grass was green. The checkered picnic blanket was soft under Arthur's hands. His mother's voice was quiet and steady as she read him a story about kings and knights and fair ladies. She looked up from the book and smiled. He looked over his shoulder and saw his father approaching. He was carrying ice-cream cones and grinning at them.

 

~*~

 

He doesn't mention the invitation to Gwen. He doesn't want to tell her about it until he's made his decision because he knows she will try to influence him and nudge him in the right direction, but he also knows he's not sure he wants to do the right thing here. In fact, he quickly writes a polite declination after a mere day's thought. He's just about to click on the _send_ button, when he looks at the dean's name in the first line of his e-mail and remembers when the man used to teach him. He saves the mail as a draft instead.

~*~

 

Arthur grabbed one of the gifts wrapped in red and started tearing the shiny paper. His mother was sitting on the couch behind him, nursing a cup of something warm. Next to her sat his father, one of his arms around Ygraine's shoulders. The phone rang and Arthur ran to answer it. His grandmother wished him a merry Christmas and asked him if he liked his presents. When Arthur came back to the living room, his mother and father were sitting apart. They joined him on the floor without a word, each taking a gift and unwrapping it. Arthur was excited to find a set of cartoon-themed puzzles in one of the boxes marked with a large letter A.

 

~*~

 

He has until the end of August to send in his reply. It's mid-August and Gwen's birthday is coming up when he decides to ask for her advice. She is, understandably and expectedly, not happy that he hid it from her; she purses her lips tightly and crosses her arms over her chest, gives him that look that Arthur hates so much, that makes him feel even shorter than half the man he is. She tells him to go. It's a great opportunity, she says, to reach out to a new generation of scientists and maybe inspire them. And maybe he'll like it, she says, maybe he'll like teaching and maybe he'll want to stay and maybe they'll let him, because who wouldn't want to have a world-renowned leader in their chosen field teaching at their university. Or maybe, she says, he'll suck at it and maybe he'll hate it and he'll give an awkward hour long speech; he'll leave and the students will eventually forget him. ‘What does he have to lose?’ she says.

 

And Arthur already knows these things. But he still doesn't reply just yet.

 

~*~

 

By the time Arthur had finished his homework, the dinner was already served. The table had been set for three, but Michelle was removing one of the plates.

 

“Just you and me this time,” his mother informed him, smiling. There was something in the way she was sitting, her back straight and her arms placed on the table, palms seemingly glued to the tablecloth, that didn't quite seem natural.

 

“Where's Father?” Arthur asked, sitting down. His mother looked away from him, focused on Michelle as the girl removed the third glass from the table with an almost imperceptible curtsey.

 

“A bottle of red wine, Michelle, thank you,” his mother said before looking back at him. “Something came up at work. He won't make it to dinner tonight.”

 

Arthur just nodded and grabbed his fork. He was really hungry. His mother seemed unhappy about something, but Arthur didn't bother asking – she was never happy when Father had to work late, which was happening more and more often. He put a piece of the steak in his mouth. It was delicious.

 

~*~

 

It's well after midnight when Arthur finally drags himself to bed. He tries not to disturb Gwen, but it's difficult when the bed dips sharply under his hands as he pulls himself out of the chair. She left the covers folded over his side of the bed so he can get in more easily, she always does. Arthur thinks that maybe he hasn't woken her up. But then she turns around, snuggles closer to him and puts a hand on his chest. Her eyes are open.

 

“Have you decided?” she asks.

 

“Yeah,” he says. He swallows, the sound loud and clear in the silent room. “I'm going. I asked them to schedule the lectures sometime in October.”

 

“Good,” she says.

 

She goes back to sleep after that. He lies awake. He doesn't know why it's so difficult to think about going back to Camelot. He tells himself he's only going there as a guest lecturer, a few hours of lectures over a few days, nothing much, nothing special. But still, the thought of being there again, seeing the same hallways and the same imperfect ramps for the disabled and maybe standing on the other side of one of his old classrooms or potentially even sleeping in his old room, it makes him fidget, it makes his palms sweat and he starts to wonder if it's too late to cancel.

 

He’s always said his university years were the best time of his life since the accident. He has fond memories of the big old buildings he couldn't navigate most of the time. Most of his friends, he met there. Gwen, he met there. _Merlin_ , he met there.

 

He's still awake when Gwen's alarm goes off. He hits the digital clock with his palm and gets up to make coffee.

 

~*~

 

Arthur kicked lightly at Lancelot's hip, forcing him stumbling off the bed. “Oi!” Lancelot squeaked from the floor, one of his arms shooting out in Arthur's general direction but missing. Arthur swatted at Lancelot's wrist, laughing and crawling to the other side of the bed. He was almost off the bed when he felt a hand close at one of his ankles and pull him back, the crisp white sheets going with his body and bunching up under him uncomfortably. He tried kicking, but Lancelot had a good grip on both of his legs now so he opted instead for pushing at Lancelot's shoulders. Lancelot was too strong for him, though, and soon he was on top of Arthur and laughing at Arthur as he was futilely trying to wrestle his way away.

 

With one last playful pinch to Arthur's side, Lancelot flopped down to lie on the other side of the bed. Even with his arms spread out he was barely touching Arthur. He stretched out over the bed and ran his hands over the sheets, looking at Arthur with obvious envy. “Your _bed_ ,” he announced seriously, “is bigger than my room.”

 

“I'll trade you,” Arthur replied, only half-joking. He liked his bed well enough, but he liked Lancelot's room better – with blue walls, rockets and stars and planets painted on them, with shelves full of old and mostly broken toys, and a light carpet, worn with age it felt more welcoming to Arthur than his own room. His walls were a pristine white, his shelves always neatly covered with the newest, but unused, remote helicopters and talking robots, his carpet, clean and fluffy, rarely ever felt anyone's feet other than Arthur's own. He asked his parents to redecorate, but all his father allowed was repainting with an even brighter white. Arthur always felt awkward when his friends came over – he could see the envy in their faces and he didn't know how to tell them that all he wanted was for his life to be a little more like theirs.

 

The front door creaked as it opened, then again as it slammed shut. “I've had it with your questions!” his father's voice rumbled through the halls.

 

“Enough, we'll talk about this later. Arthur's friend is here.” His mother was calm as always, pragmatic and to the point.

 

His father replied too quietly for Arthur to hear.

 

Lancelot gave Arthur a look, confused and apologetic, but still questioning. Arthur couldn't think of anything to say so he just brushed the incident off with a smile and punched Lancelot's shoulder in challenge.

 

~*~

 

Arthur closes the new tab he'd just opened. It's been two weeks since he last contacted his old university. They're supposed to send him an affirmation, let him know about his schedule; probably check with him over any conditions he might have. He will need to reply to them. It's just basic communication.

 

And yet, Arthur hasn't checked his e-mail account in 15 days. He's now kind of wishing he'd used one of his back-ups instead of his main address.

 

He knows that he is being completely irrational. He's not really gaining anything by simply not looking at a webpage. As a matter of fact, he's doing himself the opposite of a favor; he's constantly nervous, always thinking about what might be waiting in his inbox, and not to mention that he's being utterly unprofessional. But every time he decides to check his e-mail, every time he opens a new tab and starts typing in the address bar, he panics. It's silly and childish, the same logic as covering your eyes and thinking the monsters under the bed will go away.

 

But for the moment, ignorance is bliss.

 

Arthur closes the laptop and puts it on the desk. Gwen will be home soon, Mordred's soccer practice having ended almost half an hour ago. Arthur told them he'd have lunch ready for them by the time they got back. He doesn't have much time, so he decides to make spaghetti. Mordred loves spaghetti.

 

Arthur opens the cabinet under the sink and takes out two pots. The spaghetti is on the second shelf from the floor in the cupboard, along with everything he needs for a decent sauce. It's only a small adjustment his family makes to help him, but every time he consciously notices it, he's equal parts guilty, ashamed, and grateful. He quickly takes everything he needs, puts it in his lap and closes the cupboard.

 

~*~

 

Arthur let the _Game Over_ flash on his computer screen as he listened to his parents arguing. Normally, he wouldn't; normally, he would do anything to tune out their voices. For years their family had been falling apart now, and the way Arthur coped with it was to ignore it. Of course, the less he knew, the easier it was to pretend everything was normal. So whenever he heard noise from downstairs, he concentrated extra hard on his homework and whenever his mother self-medicated with alcohol and started bitterly telling him about his father, he excused himself to his room.

 

Today, however, something caught his attention. He wasn't sure if it was his mother's tone, colored not only with her anger and wounded pride but real hurt, or the way his father was no longer trying to defend himself, but sounded more placating and apologetic, something Arthur hadn't known him to be until then. Either way, once he'd started listening, he couldn't stop.

 

“For six years I let you play at this stupid charade because all the while I thought Arthur would always come first!” his mother was hissing. Arthur cringed at the sound of his own name spoken in that tone.

 

“He does,” his father replied, his voice barely carrying over to Arthur's ears. “He's my son, Ygraine, my only son. I would do anything for him, you know that.”

 

Arthur started a new game of _Pacman_. His fingers moved over the arrow keys with practiced speed.

 

“Then end it. I don't want you seeing them ever again.”

 

Arthur could imagine the way his mother probably crossed her arms over her chest, straightened her back to seem taller. She could be quite intimidating when she tried.

 

“Me and Katrina are done,” Uther said. Arthur couldn't decide if he sounded startled or defiant. “That's all that matters.”

 

“You will not see them again. Or you will not see us again,” Ygraine replied.

 

Arthur's hand froze. He didn't bother avoiding a ghost and the words _Game Over_ started flashing in front of him again. He stomach had dropped out at the pronoun his mother had used.

 

“Morgana is my daughter. I can't just forget about that,” his father replied. Arthur turned up the volume on his speakers and started another mindless round of avoiding colorful ghosts.

 

He could no longer hear the argument, but he didn't need to. His mother, for all the horrible things she could say to and about his father, always eventually compromised when it came to an argument. Arthur can't even count the number of times he heard her say, _We'll make it work, we have to. For Arthur._ Sometimes, when he came home from school and found his mother immersed in some mindless TV show with a glass of whiskey in her hand, her legs curled up under her, her face gaunt and tired, he felt guilty. Other times, when Father took a day off and spent it with them, and they sat together at the huge dining table, enjoying a family meal, joking and laughing and talking, he felt proud, like he was somehow responsible for preserving something special.

 

~*~

 

Morgana takes a sip of tea from her travel mug. “You're doing what now?” she asks. Her eyebrows do this weird thing where it looks like they can't decide if they want to go up or down. She holds the mug to her face, covering her lips, but Arthur is pretty sure she's smirking.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, get it out of your system,” Arthur says. He watches two pigeons fight over a crumb of his croissant. “I'm teaching. Temporarily. _Very_ temporarily.”

 

“The one thing you always said you'd never do,” Morgana replies. She's definitely smirking now.

 

Arthur shrugs, throwing another crumb to the pigeons. “I'll suck at it anyway,” he says. “It's good the whole thing is only gonna be, like, a few lectures.”

 

“ _Like_ a few lectures?” Morgana makes a face at him. “Didn't you, _like_ , negotiate some conditions with the university?”

 

Arthur rolls his shoulders and rubs his neck, uncomfortable. He takes his foam cup of coffee from the bench. It's still warm, thankfully.

 

“Oh my god,” Morgana almost shouts. She punches his shoulder a little harder than Arthur hopes she was planning. “You're avoiding them!”

 

“I'm not avoiding anything.” Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. He knew going to Morgana with this would be, well, less than pleasant. Another thing he knows is that eventually, she will end up telling him something useful, because that's what Morgana does.

 

Morgana rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, please, Arthur, you're freaking out and ignoring the problem. It's what you do.” Arthur rubs his temples. He knows Morgana is right, which is precisely why it stings so much. “Please tell me you at least agreed to go.”

 

“Why do you even care so much?”

 

Morgana's shoulders relax. She drinks some more tea. “You're rattled, Arthur. Something is up, and you might not want to tell me what, but _something_ is definitely getting to you. Which is precisely why you have to do this, because if you're avoiding it, it's probably important.”

 

One of the pigeons is getting dangerously close to them. Morgana hates pigeons. Arthur throws a crumb as far away as he can.

 

Sometimes Arthur feels like Morgana knows him too well for his own good. She knows him better than he knows himself, and it's scary. It's disconcerting because Arthur can lie to her all he wants, but no matter how good a lie he comes up with or how convincingly he tells it, he's never quite sure if she believes it.

 

He's always been awfully suspicious concerning how much she knew about how his relationship with Merlin ended. She never asks him about it and never brings it up, but subtle hints over the years and the looks she gives him (the disappointment that he's so tired of getting from everyone, tired of _feeling_ every day) when she thinks he's not looking are more than enough for him to realize that she knows more than she's willing to admit. He only wonders if she's letting him get away with it because she wants to spare him the conversation or because she wants to spare herself the letdown.

 

~*~

 

Arthur's favorite part were the bridges. They extended like arms over the wide river, connecting parts of the city that would otherwise be forever separated. They were tall and elegant and very decorative, but at the same time incredibly strong and sturdy. Sometimes Arthur would look out of their hotel room window and watch thousands of cars cross the Erzsebet bridge and it never even trembled. He imagined how one day he could create a bridge like that, strong and beautiful and inspiring.

 

It was his father who booked their hotel room and bought their plane tickets and planned their trip. When he suggested a family vacation in Budapest, Arthur was excited, but his mother was... She was more than just excited – she looked at his father like Arthur had never seen her look at him before and she looked like she might cry. His father made an off-handed remark how she'd once said she'd always wanted to see Budapest, making it sound like it was nothing important, but Arthur could see how much it meant to his mother that he'd remembered.

 

A strange atmosphere had then filled the room and they seemed to have brought it with them as even now the air he was breathing tasted strange. It was the first time in a long time they were taking a vacation together as a family, a proper vacation, not someone's business trip turned opportunity to go sightseeing, but 10 days in a foreign country with all their days free to walk the unfamiliar streets and listen to conversations spoken in a strange new language, 10 days for Arthur to experience something completely different, 10 days for his mother to admire the architecture she'd long wanted to see, 10 days for his father to try to make amends.

 

It was odd for Arthur to spend so much time with both of his parents together – usually it was just him and his mother, her work hours more flexible, her approach to him more caring, his time with her more pleasant. In Arthur's experience, his father was a distant authority, something his father's business associates who sometimes came to dinner always said made him a perfect businessman, exactly the kind of person who could build a rich empire out of a simple idea. His mother on the other hand was, to him at least, the epitome of a musician – she was always humming to herself, her fingers often forming patterns like they were holding the neck of an invisible cello, the way she moved was elegant and graceful, fluid like the music she played.

 

And yet, as he walked down the Vaci street, a few steps behind his parents, he wondered if everything he knew about his parent was actually true. His mother was dragging his father around, taking turns down seemingly random alleys, pointing to various buildings, rattling off facts about them like it was nothing; she sounded knowledgeable, certain, like a teacher lecturing a student on a topic she enjoyed. His father followed around dutifully, indulging her with a smile, looking more carefree than Arthur ever remembered seeing him.

 

On several occasions, Arthur noticed tension between them, when one of them said something that, by some unspoken agreement, they were not supposed to. For the most part of their entire trip, it seemed like they were, all three of them, once again a close and happy family, not just pretending at it for the sake of appearances. It was a change, but certainly not an unwelcome one.

 

~*~

 

“Exactly how scared of these students are you?” Gwen asks, chuckling in his ear. She scratches gently at his chest, her hands under his shirt.

 

“It's not the students,” Arthur replies, turning his head to brush his lips over Gwen's cheek. “It's the whole going back to university thing.”

 

“You enjoyed university!” Gwen counters, standing up. Her hands find their place on his shoulders and squeeze gently. “Mostly,” she adds teasingly. “You were a bit of a nerd.”

 

“I seem to recall that you liked me just fine even then,” Arthur prods back. He likes having some playful banter with Gwen, it relaxes him.

 

“I was doing you the favor of offering my company to brighten up your lonely days,” she says. She spins his chair around to face the bed as she slowly backs away from him. She opens her robe slowly, looking him straight in the eye.

 

Arthur licks his lips. “Well, I appreciate that.” She's wearing simple black panties and a purple bra with white lace. She hooks a finger under one of the bra straps and pulls on it so it slaps against her skin. She bites her lip. Arthur unbuttons the top button on his shirt. Gwen leans over and kisses his neck. He can see her hands on his knees, but he doesn't feel them. He sinks a hand in her hair.

 

“You'll be fine on your own this time,” she says, “don't worry about it so much.”

 

Arthur slides a bra strap down her shoulder. “I just keep thinking...” He kisses her shoulder. “Helena is the Dean now, did you know?” He bites her at the same time as she pops another button on his shirt. “And I'm taking Gaius' classes and... I know these people. It feels like I'm going back to school.” He doesn't admit what really bothers him, which memories he's afraid of revisiting. She doesn't suspect anything. She has no reason to.

 

She puts a hand on his cheek gently and looks at him with a smile. “It's been more than 10 years, Arthur. I'm pretty sure things have changed.”

 

~*~

 

In the long history of awkward family dinners, this one was promising to take the crown as the worst one ever.

 

Arthur picked at his food, doing his best not to look up, stupidly hoping that if he didn't make a sound, they'd forget he was even there. His mother was sitting next to him, and her knee was pressed against his, an unmoving, solid and certain comfort that both helped him and reminded him that no matter how hard he tried, he wouldn't just evaporate from his seat.

 

A pair of knives and forks clicked as his parents ate, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to taste the vegetables in his plate. Across from him, Morgana appeared to be of like mind.

 

It had been a pleasant evening several days ago when the phone call came. Owain and Lance had both come to spend the night at Arthur's and they were playing on Arthur's new computer when the phone rang. Arthur had thought nothing of it until his mother knocked on his door some time later, when Leon had already long fallen asleep and Lance had just gone to shower, leaving Arthur alone for the first time all day. And that was when Arthur knew something had happened.

 

His mother took him downstairs where his father was bent over the coffee table in the leaving room, going through some documents. Arthur assumed he was working so he was confused about what he was doing there. His mother cleared her throat and put a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up at her, he noticed she was pale, that her lips were barely more than a thin line and her eyes red.

 

“Arthur,” his father said, his voice oddly strained. His mother's fingers tightened on his shoulder. “Please, sit.”

 

And Arthur did. He sat through his father's entire story that at times sounded like he was justifying himself, and at times like he was accusing someone, the story of a woman and a girl whose names Arthur had only heard once in his life, but never forgot. He pretended that he had no idea who they were, pretended that the sentence _Katrina... she's unwell, she won't be able to take care of Morgana anymore_ didn't scare him half to death because he knew, he knew that his father wouldn't be telling him this if he didn't absolutely _have_ to know. He pretended he was surprised that Morgana would be living with them from then on, but really, by that part in his father's speech, he was expecting that, seeing it in his mother's stiff posture, in how she left the room with balled up fists.

 

And that was how Morgana had ended up in his house, at his table, eating with _his family_. His father had gone to the funeral alone, in a neatly pressed black suit, and come back with a tall, pale girl, not much younger than Arthur himself, in tow.

 

Arthur wasn't sure what he had expected, but somehow their arrival had caught him completely off guard. Unsurprisingly, the three days leading up to it that he had spent playing games didn't quite prepare him for meeting Morgana. For some reason, Arthur had thought it would be easier. But then his father was walking through the door with this complete stranger who was suddenly supposed to be his sister and Arthur was shaking with anger. Morgana didn't look like she'd been crying, she didn't look much like anything at all, her expression was so bland and indecipherable, her voice even when she spoke, was the same. Arthur hated her instantly.

 

And now she was sitting across from him, disinterestedly running her fork over her food and for a moment, Arthur almost sympathized with her. But then he looked at her face and saw in it the resemblance to _his_ father, and he remembered all the arguments he'd overheard over the years, all the times he'd seen his mother cry and any connection he might have felt forming between them disappeared to be replaced by red-hot rage and burning hatred.

 

~*~

 

He stares at the red number in the upper right corner. It's 43. It's 43 new e-mails that he hasn't checked. At least one of them is from University of Camelot. Probably more. He hovers over the purple envelope icon, hesitating. It's just an e-mail, he tells himself.

 

It turns out that there are two. One is signed by Helena Sheppard, the dean who Arthur remembers from his own days at university; the other by Gaius Greenaway, the professor whose lectures he will be covering (4, over the course of 5 days, first week of October). Arthur remembers him as well.

 

~*~

 

Arthur had never been as grateful for his mother's insisting that he go to a public school as he was when time came for Morgana to start school herself. She'd been home-schooled up until then, but her father enrolled her in a private school not too far from their home. He said Morgana needed to feel secure, to be in an environment that was more strictly controlled than public school. Arthur's mother didn't seem thrilled by this, but Arthur was just happy to have a place where he could run away from Morgana's seemingly constant irritating presence.

 

He took his usual seat, next to Lance, feeling light with freedom of being away from home. He grinned at Lance who was bemused for a moment, then caught on.

 

“Morgana goes to a different school,” he said.

 

“Yep.” Arthur took out his notebook and a pen and put them neatly on the desk. He felt like there was something he was forgetting, but he brushed it off, too happy to pay attention to anything that could dampen his mood.

 

“Well, I'm glad you're in a good mood,” Lance told him, nudging him with an elbow. Chloe sat in front of Lance, knocking her chair back as she put her bag down. Lance caught the chair by the back before it could fall to the floor.

 

“Oh, thanks,” Chloe said, turning around and righting the chair back up. Lance, against all Arthur's expectations and previous experiences, didn't reply. Arthur looked at his face and found his cheeks were flushed. He resisted the urge to laugh, but he did poke Lance in the ribs with a pencil. Lance weaseled away from him. Arthur let him have that small victory, but made a mental note to tease Lance mercilessly about Chloe later.

 

“You're far too happy for someone who hasn't done the required reading,” Lance remarked with a lopsided smirk and there it was, Arthur knew he was forgetting _something_.

 

“Fuck,” he cursed before he even thought about the fact that the entire class could probably hear him.

 

Lance's eyes widened. “Did I just hear that right? Did the posh and annoyingly prim prince just curse?”

 

“Oh, fuck off,” Arthur replied, this time very deliberately cursing; he tasted the word, tried it out, and he found he liked it. It rolled off the tongue easily and it made him sound more grown up, cooler, more like someone people wanted to hang out with and less like a stuck up brat.

 

“Oh god, please don't become one of those preppy jocks who hides behind the school to smoke and ogle girls, “ Lance whined. He looked like he was about to complain some more but then Ms. Ross walked in, her heels clicking on the polished floor, so Lance shut up and turned around.

 

“Who even says ogle anymore,” Arthur muttered under his breath. He knew better than to draw attention to himself though, so he slid back in his seat and tried to look as bored as possible, hoping that would be enough to discourage Ms. Ross from asking him about the homework.

 

He cursed in his own head, first because he'd always been more or less a conscientious student and he should've known better than to avoid schoolwork, then at the very existence of schoolwork and finally just because. There was something extremely satisfying about swearing. Arthur found it fascinating how in just one word, he could pack so many emotions he couldn't even name them all, and not only express them but feel better for having done so.

 

It occurred to him that his parents wouldn't approve of his cursing, especially his father. He would've expected that to put him off, but somehow the desire to use _fuck_ in every form he could think of became even stronger, the word even sweeter when he thought about the shocked faces his father would make at hearing them fall from Arthur's lips.

 

He smiled to himself, picked up a pen and started scribbling on his notebook, pretending he was paying attention to the lecture.

 

~*~

 

“How long will you be gone, Daddy?” Mordred asks, his light blue eyes innocently wide.

 

“A week or so,” Arthur replies. It was Gwen's turn to cook, but there was an emergency at work and she called a few hours ago, said she wouldn't be home until late. Arthur had to call Morgana and ask her to pick the kids up from school. And really, he was just lucky Mithian could cover for him at work so he could get home sooner. They ordered Thai. He put a container away for Gwen in the fridge. He's thinking about hijacking it, though.

 

“Is Mommy going with you?” Mordred asks again. Arthur almost cringes watching him stab a piece of pineapple with his chopsticks. He has Gwen's voice in his head, _he's just a kid, Arthur, let him be_ , so he swallows the complaint. He's not comfortable teaching his children to disrespect other cultures, though, however young they may be (his recent fascination with all things Asian may or may not have something to do with the fact that Pac, his new colleague, is Korean).

 

“No, she's not,” Arthur says after a moment's pause. He hasn't actually spoken to Gwen, now that he thinks about it, and perhaps it would be smart to have her with him (she certainly makes his life easier), but something about this whole trip feels so intensely personal that he doesn't _want_ to share it. Not even with Gwen.

 

“Didn't she go to the same university as you?” Morgause asks, swallowing a mouthful of rice, always polite. Arthur is glad she decided to use the fork instead of playing with chopsticks.

 

“Yeah, she did. Aunt Morgana did, too.” Arthur twirls his noodles around with his chopsticks. For some reason, even just thinking about going back and talking about it makes him lose his appetite.

 

“How come you never tell us about that?” Morgause questions, her eyes bright. She's always been a little too smart. Arthur can see why Morgana's been trying to get her claws in her.

 

“It was a long time ago, it doesn't really matter.”

 

“Daaaaad,” Morgause whines. She's about to make a great argument for why Arthur should tell them more about himself, Arthur can already see it, but then the doorbell rings and Arthur has never been so grateful to see a Jehovah's witness in his entire life.

 

~*~

 

Arthur sat down on the stairs and leaned back against the wall behind him. He hadn't expected Lance to be there, not really, and yet, he couldn't help but be a little bit disappointed to be there alone. Lance had told him he wouldn't be skipping the test, but somehow Arthur had hoped maybe Lance would change his mind. They'd been doing things together for so long it was weird to do something without him now. But then, Lance had been getting more and more unhappy with Arthur's behavior lately.

 

Arthur shrugged to himself. He didn't really need Lance, he told himself. He was making new friends now anyway. And besides, there was no way he could possibly pass that test if he'd gone to it. He leaned his head back on the concrete. He was tired. He wished he could've stayed in bed, but his father had taken the day off so he had to at least pretend he was going to class regularly.

 

He didn't notice someone was sitting with him until they spoke.

 

“So what are you ditching?”

 

Arthur turned to his left side. He knew the girl sitting there only from seeing her around the hallways a couple of times, she was a year or two older than him and they didn't have any classes together. She was at some of the parties he'd gone to and he was pretty sure her name was Allison, but they hadn't spoken before.

 

“Chemistry,” he replied, smiling at her. A couple of months ago he would probably have stumbled over his own words (but then, a few months ago he wouldn't have been there in the first place) and he still wasn't quite sure what he was doing, so he imagined he was one of the popular kids in some teen rom-com and did what he thought popular rom-com kids did. Then he remembered that he _was_ one of the popular kids now, that this girl started talking to him because she wanted to, that he was receiving attention because people thought he was interesting. It was a heady high, to be accepted.

 

“I hate chemistry,” she said, grinning at him. She rummaged a little through her pockets, then took out a pack of cigarettes. She offered one to him. He was tempted to take it, his fingers itched to reach out, to pull out a cigarette and accidentally on purpose let their hands touch, to light the cigarette and take a pull. He could imagine himself doing it, could see himself through the eyes of others – sitting behind the school building, smoking with an attractive girl, obviously avoiding classes. He'd never smoked before, but he'd thought about it. Eventually he shook his head no – he didn't want to embarrass himself by coughing and choking on his first smoke in front of someone.

 

“Yeah, me too.” He didn't actually. Chemistry was quite interesting to him, but it was one of those universally hated subjects in their school and Arthur felt like he _should_ hate it.

 

“You coming over to Tim's?” she asked, light grey smoke curling out of the corners of her mouth.

 

“Friday, right?”

 

“Yep.”

 

Arthur thought about it. His mother was having friends over for dinner on Friday. He figured he could probably sneak out unnoticed. “Yeah, I'll be there,” he said, casually inclining his head towards Allison.

 

“Good,” she replied with a smile he couldn't quite figure out. She finished her cigarette in silence and he resisted looking at his watch. The silence made him nervous. When the bell finally rang, he was relieved to have an excuse to leave. Allison stood up with him. “Well, I'll see you on Friday then,” she said. She leaned over and pressed her lips to his.

 

He didn't know what possessed him, but instead of letting it end there, Arthur held her close with a hand on the back of her neck. She smiled against his mouth and then her tongue was pressing into his mouth he wanted to turn back time, just for those few seconds because he had no idea what to do. He followed her lead and hoped he didn't screw up to badly. When she pulled back and left she mostly just looked amused. She waved at him as she entered the school from the side door. The skirt she was wearing was just that tiny bit too short for the school dress code and it swayed around her legs as she walked, revealing her long legs. She really was attractive. And Arthur really was getting used to his new role.

 

~*~

 

Gwen gently takes the tumbler from him. Arthur stirs awake. His neck is sore. He didn't even notice he was drifting off. The glass clinks on the dark wood of the coffee table.

 

“Long day?” Gwen asks gently. She sits on the coffee table, her finger caressing the rim of the glass. She looks like she's considering taking a sip. Arthur knows how much she hates whiskey.

 

“Clearly not as bad as yours,” he replies.

 

She gives him a small smile. “I told you about Jessica, didn't I?” She picks the glass up and swirls the amber liquid around.

 

“It's warm,” Arthur warns in lieu of a response. Gwen has told him about Jessica. A 6-year-old with a practically inoperable brain tumor. Sometimes Arthur hates Gwen is the best at what she does.

 

“She had a seizure this morning,” Gwen sighs, knocking back the remainders of Arthur's whiskey. She makes a face at the taste (Arthur shrugs, mouthing _I warned you, didn't I?_ ) and shakes her head. “Pretty bad. She went into cardiac arrest.”

 

Arthur leans forward in his chair. He touches Gwen's shoulder with an open palm, runs the tips of his fingers down her arm. Her skin is soft and smells like honey. She takes his hand.

 

“Took us 20 minutes to bring her back,” she says, quietly, to their joint hands. Arthur brushes the back of her hand with his thumb. “Oh, Arthur,” she sighs. Arthur pulls her closer until she's sitting on his lap. He hugs her tightly. “We had to move the operation. We weren't prepared.” Arthur rubs her back. “She died.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Arthur says, almost automatic by now. It's not the first patient Gwen's lost and it won't be the last. Arthur's never really known how to deal with it. This is as good as he gets.

 

“It's not that we didn't expect it,” Gwen replies, hiding her face in Arthur's neck. “But it was still...” She sighs. “Tell me about your day? It has to have been better, and I... need a distraction.”

 

Arthur thinks about how unfocused he's been at work, how Mithian's had to literally put out fires for him, about how he's been panicking over something that seems so inconsequential compared to what Gwen's dealing with. “Yeah, yeah, my day's been fine.”

 

~*~

 

“Where are you going?” Morgana asked as Arthur shrugged into a jacket. He snorted.

 

“None of your business?”

 

From the corner of his eye he could see her leaning on the doorframe of his room. The light was coming from behind her so he couldn't really see her face very clearly, but her arms were crossed over her chest making her night gown pleat and fall unevenly. She looked older than she was, more serious and more menacing than she had a right to look. Arthur grabbed his key from his desk and put it in his inside pocket.

 

“You're not supposed to be going out. Father expressly forbade it,” Morgana hissed at him, not budging an inch when he tried to push past her and through the door.

 

“So what are you gonna do? Wake him up and tell him? Go ahead,” he challenged with more certainty in his voice than he really felt. She'd never told on him before but then, there was a first time for everything, and he couldn't really trust Morgana of all people, especially not when it came to predictability.

 

“I could, you know,” she said, raising one dark eyebrow. Arthur was suddenly grateful for the growth spur he'd experienced earlier that year, because that look would be a lot more menacing if he wasn't a whole head taller than her.

 

“Then either do it right now, or get the fuck out of my way.”

 

Morgana stared at him for another long moment before she sighed and stepped away. Arthur hid the relief he actually felt behind a condescending smirk.

 

“Thought so,” he murmured as he walked past her, “you're too much of a coward to actually do it.”

 

He ran down the stairs and through the front door before she could react to the insult. He knew he'd pushed a little too much with that last comment, but he just hadn't been able to resist it – riling Morgana up was always fulfilling, like he was winning this game they were both playing without fully understanding the rules or the goals.

 

He snuck out the door, closing it slowly so it wouldn't creak, and locked the house behind him. The light in his mother's room was still on, but he was pretty sure she was asleep, so he wasn't worried. In fact, he wasn't sure why it made him so twitchy to see the dim light of her reading lamp shining through the curtains; he sped up towards the street corner where he could see Lance waiting for him.

 

With every step farther from the house, he felt less and less nervous. When he was near the corner he could see the discomfort on Lance's face, he took a deep breath. He was far enough away that even if someone looked out of the window from his house, they wouldn't see him. The worst part of the night was over – he'd managed to get away. Now was when the excitement really began, when his hands started sweating a little and his legs got restless and he just wanted to _do things_. That was always his favorite part of sneaking out, the initial buzz of freedom. He grinned.

 

“I don't like that face,” Lance said. He looked even less certain about their night out up close than he did when Arthur first saw him from down the street. His hands were in the pockets of his jacket and his foot was tapping a quick rhythm on the pavement. Arthur put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him forward.

 

“Oh come on, it's just one little party! Even you need to relax sometimes.”

 

Lance didn't look convinced, but he obligingly followed Arthur down two left turns and one right and then there was no need to follow anyone anymore because they could hear the heavy bass coming from the two story house ahead of them. Arthur's hand automatically reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, like it was conditioned to that reaction when around people. Lance scowled at him, but Arthur knew he'd long given up on trying to talk sense into him.

 

Things didn't improve when they were inside either, where everyone was drinking and dancing and Lance looked completely out of place. Arthur, on the other hand, had long learnt what to do. He picked up a plastic cup of something that smelled like Coke and rum and drained it immediately. A little bit of alcohol, he'd quickly found out, went a long way for his confidence and made him just relaxed enough not to care about anything but living in the present moment.

 

~*~

 

“Are you ready?” Gwen asks, looking at him over the paperback she's reading. It's a crime novel, _Two Little Girls in Blue_ by Mary Higgins Clark, which Arthur only know because Gwen has been complaining about it for days. She says it's boring and unrealistic and given how fast of a reader she is and how long she's been reading it, he tends to take her word for it.

 

“Well,” he says, “I've packed.”

 

“For two months it would seem,” she replies, pushing her reading glasses up her nose. She turns the page.

 

“Just in case,” Arthur allows.

 

He takes his toothbrush, puts some paste on it and is about to start brushing his teeth when Gwen calls from the room, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

 

He sighs deeply then decides not to answer. Brushing his teeth buys him some time. By the time he's managed to get on the bed (Gwen doesn't help him, she knows he hates it), Gwen's given up and put the book away. She's cleaning her glasses with the bed sheet, and checking them on the night light.

 

“I still don't know what I'm gonna talk about,” he finally admits. He throws the blanket over his legs and fluffs his pillows before he leans against them. “There are so many things I _could_ talk about, so many projects we've done or started, things we've found that work or don't work... I don't know where I want to start.”

 

Gwen snuggles closer to him. “I think you're missing the point of teaching.”

 

“What do you mean?” Arthur frowns, confused. “I plan on telling them about any relevant progress we've made and how we got there. They'll know things even their regular lecturers don't!”

 

Gwen chuckles. “You know we get new interns every year, right? They observe for a while and then they work with us and yes, they learn from the experience and that's part of it, but you know what's actually the point?” He hums in response. He thinks he should, by now, be at least halfway to figuring out what she's getting at, but he's not. So he waits for her to continue. “They need to decide what they want to be doing for the rest of their lives. And we get to be part of that decision.”

 

Arthur nods. “That's all great, but I don't really see what it has to do with me holding a class or two.”

 

“That's because you didn't let me finish,” she replies, swatting his stomach lightly. “See, the point of teaching, at least in my opinion, is not to make your students know, but to make them _want_ to know. Interest them in what you do, let them see you diagnose a rare disease or remove a tumor or save a kid's life, show them the drive and the consequences, the whole story that's not in the textbooks... and they'll want to be part of it too.”

 

Arthur loves Gwen's optimistic altruism, he does, it's one of the things that he admires most about her, but he really hopes it doesn't transfer on to him. It seems like a hell of a lot of responsibility to be carrying, believing that you can make better all the lives you get involved in. he shakes his head. “Gwen...”

 

“No, no, hear me out,” she interrupts. “Do you remember when we were in university? We all started before you, but you got your PhD first by a mile.” Arthur is simultaneously growing with pride and wanting to hide his face somewhere at the compliment. “Because you had the kind of drive that we didn't. Arthur, if there's something that no one but you can teach these kids, it's the passion for your research. Tell them how you started.”

 

Arthur tenses, then shakes his head. “You know I don't like to talk about that.” He turns away from her and stares at the wall. It needs repainting. “I don't talk about that to _you_ , I don't talk about it to my friends. What makes you think I would share something so... personal with a bunch of frat boys and party loving girls!?”

 

“Is that how you remember it?”

 

“I'm exaggerating to prove a point!” Arthur snaps. He regrets it immediately because he feels Gwen pull away from him until they're not even touching anymore and it reminds him of all the other times his pushed her away, of how rarely he's been open with her about things like this. He feels guilty. But he doesn't take anything back.

 

“Well, it was just a suggestion,” she finally says. It sounds like she turned away from him too. Arthur doesn't look over to check. “Obviously they're your lectures after all. You should handle them any way you think is right. I just feel you have more to offer than dry facts and fascinating progress towards the world of humanoid machine hybrids.”

 

She turns the light off. In the dark, Arthur crosses his arms over his chest and sighs.

 

~*~

 

The club was dark and loud and it smelled funny. Arthur didn't think he'd been missing out much not coming here before. He scanned the dance floor, looking for Percy, but the club was way too crowded to find a single person, no matter how tall they were. He took his phone out and texted Percy instead. In no time, Percy, his brother and his girlfriend were joining him by the door and pulling him towards the dance floor. They were saying something but Arthur couldn't hear them over the music. It didn't really matter anyway.

 

Someone put a drink in his hand. He didn't know what it was, but when he knocked it back, he figured it was something pretty strong. Before he could even think about getting another, though, someone had already refilled his glass. Percy had led him to the very edge of the dance floor, where the colorful, flashing neon lights didn't quite reach and the music was just a bit quieter, enough to allow for some shouted conversation.

 

“You're late,” Percy's girlfriend yelled in his ear.

 

“Uther was there for dinner, I hadn't expected that,” he replied, shrugging. The alcohol he'd had was starting to take effect and he was beginning to feel that pleasant, light buzz that came with a few drinks.

 

“Well, never mind, you're here now!” Percy grinned at him. He put one arm around Arthur's shoulders and guided him back to the dance floor.

 

Arthur had never been much of a dancer, but when he started going out to clubs, he realized dancing wasn't really what they were for. Mostly it was just jumping around and grinding together. And Arthur could do that. A drink or two and a cigarette or two and he could even enjoy doing it.

 

Percy, Tom and Jackie were already jumping up and down and he joined them easily enough. They danced standing close together until Tom was dragged away by some girl in a silver top whose face Arthur wouldn't be able to recognize if he saw it again. He hardly thought he'd have to; he wasn't new to Tom picking up girls in clubs and it never lasted long. Arthur had picked up girls like that himself, had even noticed a few guys giving him interested looks. He liked to think he was only flattered by it, and not actually interested.

 

The songs melted together until he was no longer sure how long he'd been there. Jackie had gone to get them all another round of drinks; Arthur was beginning to get tired. He slowly back away from the dance floor until his back was against the back wall of the club and he was just an observer. A group of girls, maybe two years older than him, was dancing to his right; one of them was looking at him openly. He smiled. She was blonde and petite and not really his type, but she looked old enough to drive and he did need a ride seeing how Percy was definitely too drunk to be behind a wheel.

 

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and turned his body towards the girl. He tilted his hips in what he knew was a very inviting pose and she ran her eyes over his body. He enjoyed the attention.

 

“You're getting _really_ good at that,” Percy said directly in his ear. Arthur felt a shiver run through him, though he didn't want to examine what exactly caused it – he told himself it was the surprise. Percy's put a large hand on his hip, his thumb easily sliding under Arthur's t-shirt.

 

“I've had practice,” Arthur murmured, his own words sticky in his throat. He could feel Percy's breath on the side of his neck. He leaned back into Percy without really thinking about it. He figured he'd blame the alcohol later.

 

“I know,” Percy replied and Arthur was already lost on the conversation they were having. He turned around to face Percy, still not sure if he wanted to push him away or pull him closer. It was weird looking _up_ at someone as they leaned in for a kiss.

 

Kissing Percy was definitely different from kissing a girl. For starters, Percy was taller, bigger and stronger. He was also more aggressive. He was pushing Arthur against the wall with his hands on Arthur's hips and his chest was pressing against Arthur's until Arthur could barely breathe and so help him, but Arthur liked it. He waited for the panic of an identity crisis to hit him, but it didn't come and eventually, Arthur just stopped waiting. He let his body work on auto-pilot; his hands were squeezing Percy's shoulders and when Percy pressed a knee between Arthur's thighs, Arthur let him. There was something comforting about feeling so much strength under his hands, on his body, between his legs. It felt like Arthur was exactly where he wanted to be.

 

It was easy for Arthur to tune out the music and the other people and the smell of the stuffy club when he had something else to focus on. It wasn't that easy to ignore the hurt look on Jackie's face when Arthur opened his eyes and found her staring at them, but he convinced himself he didn't actually care. She disappeared into the crowd and Arthur didn't see her for the rest of the night.

 

“We could go to my place. My parents are on a vacation,” Percy mumbled into Arthur's ear eventually, when Arthur's legs were already threatening to give out and Arthur thought he might pass out from the heat he could feel crawling over his skin.

 

“You're drunk,” Arthur replied. It wasn't a no, but it was a fact and there were some lines Arthur wasn't ready to cross yet; risking his life in a metal box controlled by someone who probably could walk in a straight line was one of them.

 

“Killjoy,” Percy commented, but he didn't stop biting Arthur's neck so Arthur figured he wasn't actually mad. “So how _do_ you plan to get home if you're not gonna let me drive you?”

 

Arthur hadn't really thought about it. He considered walking but quickly decided against it, since he wanted to get home before his thirtieth birthday. He had some money, but he didn't think it was enough for a cab. Hitchhiking wasn't the smartest thing to do that late at night either.

 

His fingers brushed over the pocket of his jeans where he could feel the square shape of his phone. He _could_ call his mother. He'd long suspected she knew where he went when he wasn't home at night, but neither of them ever brought it up, so he couldn't be sure. His mother wasn't stupid though, she had to have noticed what was going on with him.

 

He sighed, his mind made up. It wasn't the most fortunate solution, but it'd have to do just that once. He decided to give himself some more time before he had to face his mother's reaction, though, and moved his hand back to Percy's chest.

 

“I'll figure something out,” he said before he dove in for another kiss.

 

~*~

 

It's cold and dark. It's cold and windy. A flash of light and a moment of heat and Arthur is holding a lit cigarette. The bitter taste in his mouth is familiar. The smoke doesn't smell like tobacco. It smells of something sweet, like a female perfume.

 

It's still cold. Arthur puts out his cigarette on the wall behind him. He slides his hands in his pockets. They're not any warmer than the outside. There's a set of keys in his right pocket. He takes it out. They're familiar, but they don't feel like they're his. He presses the button on the key ring. Somewhere in the dark a car beeps.

 

He finds it around the corner. It's large and comfortable, a metallic silver color, German make. The back could easily fit a stroller or a few large suitcases. Or a wheelchair. It's not the kind of car Arthur would prefer.

 

He sits behind the wheel. The chair is moved too far to the front. He adjusts it until it fits him. The inside of the car is unusually dark. When he turns the key and starts the car, the dashboard doesn't light up. He tries turning on the headlights. They're not working.

 

The hum of the motor is steady and quiet, though, and the car moves easily under his command. The road is empty, or so Arthur thinks, not that he really sees the road, dark as the night is. He thinks, foggily, that he can't actually drive, but the movement comes naturally and the road, so far, has gone without a hitch, so he doesn't stop. The streets are empty, or so Arthur thinks, not that he can see anything around him, dark as the night is.

 

He doesn't know exactly where he's going. He's not even sure where he left from. There is, however, a certain sense of urgency, a feeling that he must make it to his destination in time or something bad will happen.

 

Something is nagging at him in the back of his mind, there is something he's missing, something he's forgetting. Something just doesn't feel right.

 

He takes a turn to the left. He's getting close, he can feel it, but close to what, he doesn't know. Not close to where he's going, no, the anxious tingling of hurry is still there. But close to something.

 

Suddenly the car stops. It has nothing to do with Arthur, who hasn't moved his feet at all. It has nothing to do with the road, because the concrete under him felt smooth and flat while he was moving. He turns the key. Nothing. He turns it again.

 

Suddenly, all the colorful dots and shapes on his dash light up, the air-conditioning whirrs into life and the radio starts blaring static. The motor doesn't start.

 

The world around him is still pitch black, except for two dots of white light somewhere in the distance. He tries to start the car again.

 

 _No, you don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized,_ he hears faintly over the static on the radio. He shivers. _You don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized_ , the radio repeats.

 

Arthur puts his hands on the wheel. They're shaking. His anxiety is getting worse and the bright white spots on his right are getting bigger. They're headlights, he realizes, they're headlights of another car and they're going straight for him, frozen in the middle of a crossroad somewhere in the dark with no one there to save him.

 

 _It's your fault_ , the radio says, the static almost gone. It's a female voice, familiar and warm and soft and Arthur knows it from somewhere but he can't place it. _It's your fault._ She doesn't sound angry or accusing or scared, she doesn't sound disappointed. She doesn't sound like anything. She sounds mechanic. She sounds automatic. She sounds dead. _You did this, it's your fault._

 

Arthur grips the wheel, panicking. He wishes with all his might that the car will finally start, that he'll get the hell out of there, away from the light that is getting blindingly bright and away from the voice that's booming in his ears despite being as quiet as a whisper. Then the light swallows him.

 

Arthur wakes up with a start. He's covered in sweat and he's breathing heavily. The lamp on the other side of the bed is on. Gwen is sitting with her back leaning against the headboard, her purple nightgown unbuttoned to reveal one soft breast. She's stroking his hair with a gentle hand.

 

“I'll make you some tea,” she says, when his breathing calms. He nods weakly.

 

The door closes behind her and he is alone. Yes, there are other people in the house, he can hear Gwen moving around the kitchen and he's pretty sure that's Morgause's alarm clock that he hears in the room above him, but he _feels_ alone. It's strange.

 

He looks at the large suitcase leaning against the far wall of the room. Only one. He's thought about asking Gwen to come with him, but this feels like something he needs to do alone. Still, he can't help but wonder who will make him tea when he wakes up from a nightmare halfway across the country.

 

~*~

 

_part 2: i cry babel, babel, look at me now_

 

~*~

 

When he first woke up, Arthur was convinced he was dead. Everything around him was white, the light was so strong it hurt his eyes, the sounds around him were all rhythmical and everything smelled clean and fresh. His head hurt. He couldn't feel any other part of his body. Somehow, that didn't scare him.

 

He blinked a few times, hoping the world around him would clear up. It didn't. All he could see were light and shadows, different shades of white and grey. No matter how he turned, the place where he was wouldn't come into focus. For some reason, this didn't worry him.

 

In fact, he felt quite... all right. He felt oddly free, considering he was trapped in his own body. There was a weird sensation of floating, a kind of dreamy quality enveloping him. Like he was just on that line between sleep and wakefulness. He closed his eyes again and let himself sink back into sleep.

 

~*~

 

Arthur watches the fields pass by. He's almost tempted to count the trees. His stomach feels like he had a very volatile chemical concoction for breakfast (he didn't have _any_ breakfast, precisely to avoid the discomfort of feeling the half-digested food crawling up his throat, so clearly his day is already going exactly according to plan). Gwen is driving and while he knows she's not the most relaxed driver, he still wishes she would talk to him, because the closer they get to Cambridge, the more he feels exactly like the bitter young man he was when he went there first and that's not exactly an emotional setting he wants to go back to. He has an unwanted flashback to being 20 and being driven to school by some nameless professional chauffeur because he couldn't do it himself. He shakes his head to get rid of the connection.

 

“You don't _have_ to do this, you know,” Gwen points out, looking at him in the rearview mirror. Arthur is momentarily overwhelmed by a strong feeling of fondness for Gwen.

 

He thinks about his answer. The truth is, as unreasonably nervous as he is, he's also, maybe, a little bit excited. And maybe even nostalgic. He looks down, hoping the realization doesn't show on his face. “No, I'm doing it. I promised.”

 

Gwen smiles. “Always respecting your duties,” she says. Arthur just nods. She doesn't have to know everything.

 

~*~

 

When he woke up again, the pleasant feeling of weightlessness was gone. He was sore all over, he could swear someone had weighed him down with some three tons of metal and he still couldn't quite feel his body properly. The room around him was swimming a little, but at least now he could tell it was a hospital room, not his new permanent residency in the afterlife.

 

The rhythmical sounds were still there. They sounded more mechanic now. The steady beeping of a heart monitor was underlined with a quiet whir of electrical equipment. He slowly became aware of a tube in his mouth. He wanted to take it out, but he couldn't gather the strength to lift his arm and actually do something about it.

 

He didn't feel sleepy, but he closed his eyes again anyway. Hospitals were never good news and his stomach was already instinctively churning with nerves quickly turning into panic. He wasn't ready. He very deliberately steadied his breathing and started counting backwards from 100. By 58, he was already falling asleep again.

 

~*~

 

Gwen opens the door for him. His chair is waiting for him just outside the car and he easily pulls himself into it. His hands shake a little, but as soon as his body settles into the soft, worn leather he's so used to, he calms down. It's kind of ironic, he thinks, that something he hates so much is simultaneously such comfort. He doesn't dwell on it much. He prefers not to.

 

Gwen stands next to him, his suitcase in her hand. “Hmm, I think they painted,” she says. He doesn't miss the teasing tone of her voice.

 

He rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he replies. “It's not exactly how I remember it.” The housing building that he used to spend so much time in, even after all these years, feels like a shelter, like an old friend he hasn't seen in a long time – different (larger, of a different color, maybe a little less welcoming looking than it was when Arthur last saw it, or maybe he's just imagining that part), but still familiar. He pauses to look at everything around him, subconsciously comparing it to the university he remembers.

 

Gwen squeezes his shoulder before heading towards the apartment complex with his luggage. “Turn right as soon as you enter, down to the end of the hallway, room 4-83,” he tells her.

 

“I remember!” she replies, already at the door. “Well, are you coming?” she prompts, looking over her shoulder.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a minute.”

 

He watches her leave but doesn't follow, at least not yet. For a few moments, he wants to just be there and take in his surroundings, to get a feel for this new version of his old home, to listen in on conversations and see the students rush by; it's a little strange to be in the center of student life and no longer be a student. He sits there as the entire campus unfolds around him, snippets of lives floating to his ears and in front of his eyes: older students, talking about career plans and scholarships or parties and friends; and new students, still slightly confused and overwhelmed, not yet quite comfortable with the new friends, the new place, the new system. Arthur can still tell them apart as easily as he could when he was one of them. Some things, he supposes, never change.

 

But some things do. Like the newly paved paths, wider and smooth under the wheels of his chair, or the green areas that are obviously better maintained than they were back in Arthur's day (even though right now they were just big muddy patches due to yesterday's rain), or the new store to the left of (Arthur pauses before he thinks of it as _his_ – there's no need to regress quite that much) the housing building, or the fact that the ramp leading into his building is new, stable and long enough to be easy to navigate. In fact, when he looks a little more carefully, straining his eyes to see the entrance to the housing complex 3, it appears the rest of the campus has been made more accessible to the disabled. Arthur smiles. He remembers the donations he sent anonymously, requesting that they be used to make Camelot a university that caters to everyone's needs, but he didn't really expect his wishes to be respected exactly to his liking.

 

It's early afternoon on a Saturday, the temperature rather low, but it's not raining, so quite a few students are outside. Some are doing their weekly shopping (Arthur remembers spending exorbitant amounts on long lasting products to avoid going to the store often), some are waiting to meet their friends (the ancient willow, easily one of the most recognizable parts of the campus, is still a popular meeting place, it would seem), some are already working on school projects (huddled together in the niches of buildings and trees, with stacks of paper and pens in various colors, or typing away furiously on their laptops) and some are just walking around aimlessly. Unexpectedly, Arthur imagines himself in their position, younger and with his whole life still ahead of him, wanting a breath of fresh air and deciding to go for a _walk_ , turning left and right randomly without running into people who look at him with pity or awkwardly offer to help him. He blinks to pull himself out of that thought.

 

He's aware of some students noticing him from the way they look at him, more or less surreptitiously, and a few people even seem on the verge of walking up to him, but in the end, nobody does. Arthur is glad for it because he still likes to pride himself on being independent and not needing help (even though Gwen might have a different story to tell), but at the same time he thinks, stupidly, that it's a sign of how distant and disconnected people have become, how little they care (it's something Gwen laments about every once in a while, so he blames her for planting the idea in his head).

 

Gwen, whom he didn't notice walking out, startles him out of his thoughts with a, “Do you need me to help you inside?”

 

“No,” he answers, having cleared his throat twice to find his voice.

 

“Okay, well,” she says, then stops, bringing her hands together and cracking her fingers awkwardly.

 

It suddenly hits Arthur that Gwen is leaving, that this is the last time he'll see her and speak to her in person, the last time he'll touch her in a week. It didn't seem like such a long time until that very moment, but faced with the reality of living completely alone for the first time in years, Arthur suddenly finds that it feels like ages. It's weird because between both of them being constantly busy and raising two children, they don't actually spend that much time together, but Arthur can nonetheless feel Gwen's presence in his life all the time, in the little things like too much sugar in his tea or warm and creased sheets to wake up to. It's jarring to realize he won't have that at all for a while.

 

“I'll see you in a week, then,” Gwen says. She cradles his face in her hands and leans over to kiss his lips, then his forehead.

 

Arthur takes one of her hands in both of his. “I'll Skype you in the evenings?”

 

She nods, then turns her head a little to the side, like she's thinking about something. “We haven't been apart in a long time, have we?” she asks rhetorically, crouching to be at level with him and kissing his hand. “It's weird, right? It's not just me.”

 

Arthur purses his lips awkwardly. “Yeah.”

 

“Oh, Arthur,” Gwen chides fondly. “You've always been absolutely horrible at goodbyes,” she says (and isn't that just the truest thing). “I'll see you soon!” She kisses the top of his head before she walks back to the car, gets in and starts it. She rolls the window down to wink at him and hits the horn twice as she drives off.

 

Arthur responds with a hand raised in goodbye and waits until the car is out of sight.

 

Then he lowers both his hands to the wheels of his chair and starts rolling them towards the ramp. He sighs as the wheels of the chair hit the ramp – he remembers how he used to associate that moment with the true beginning of the new school year, and now it's all here again, like not a day has passed, like things haven't changed one bit, like _he_ hasn't moved forward at all; he's almost ready for the long days of classes, late nights of studying, precious evenings with a small group of friends.

 

There's the sound of something heavy being dropped to the ground, followed by quick footsteps and a shout of, “Wait, I'll help you!” somewhere to his right.

 

“No need, I'm fine!” Arthur yells back barely refraining from rolling his eyes – it still happens every once in a while that someone sees him for the first time and assumes he needs a hand, which he more or less politely refuses, usually coldly enough for them to stop talking to him altogether.

 

Which is why, seconds later, he is as close to jumping out of his chair as a paralyzed person can be when he feels his chair move seemingly on its own. Shocked, he twists his head so he can see behind himself and he fully expects to be met with a familiar head of a pointy and pale face, huge ears sticking out at an odd angle, a mop of black wavy hair in dire need of a cut and, a pair of piercingly blue eyes, the person smiling at him widely, revealing almost perfect white teeth.

 

Instead, he sees a cute young blonde, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked and friendly-looking. And then her face disappears downwards. “Oops,” she says, reappearing in Arthur's line of sight. Arthur frowns and turns back around. “I'm sorry!” the girl says, her voice getting closer. “That was a terrible first impression, I know, gosh, I'm so terribly sorry!” She ends up standing in front of him, one of her hands bashfully covering her mouth and the other holding onto her rucksack straps which keep falling off her shoulders. She looks young, _very_ young, although that may very well be because of the cropped pants which both make her look like she just hit her growth spurt and reveal her mismatched socks.

 

Arthur thinks he actually likes her, in a fatherly sort of way. “It's okay,” he says, smiling at her kindly. He means it as a polite dismissal, but she doesn't seem to get it as she continues to stand in his way. He almost runs into her when he tries to move.

 

“Oh, I'm in your way,” she says, making it sound more like a question then a statement. “I'm sorry. Again,” she adds hastily, moving to the side.

 

“It's okay. Again,” he replies, moving past her.

 

“Aaah, um, I, errrrm,” she calls after him.

 

Arthur pauses, takes a deep breath and schools his face into a neutral expression. He likes this girl, she seems sweet really, but he's tired and this push-and-pull kind of a stilted conversation is not putting him in any better of a mood. “Yes?” he asks, moving to turn around again. Unfortunately, she's closer than he thought and this time he _does_ run into her. His feet hit her in the shins before he can stop himself.

 

“That's okay!” she's saying before he can even open his mouth to apologize. “I should be more careful, sorry. Are you alright? Oh, silly, why wouldn't you be, I mean, you probably didn't even feel that, right?” She slaps a hand over her mouth quickly. “I... am gonna stop talking now.”

 

Arthur laughs, shaking his head. “Did you want something?” he finally asks directly, figuring he would never get out of there otherwise.

 

“Oh, yes, um. I'm studying to be a nurse and one way to do extra credit is to help disabled students and staff, and well, I ended up with you,” she says quickly, in one breath, her cheeks coloring.

 

“I see,” he replies, taken aback. He spoke to neither Helena nor Gaius about any help during his stay, so he's not sure how he feels about having someone tag along with him. It makes him feel patronized, like they didn't think he could fend for himself.

 

“It's part of the changes that were implemented a few years ago, to make it easier for disabled students. I understand that things were different when you went here?” She plays with the hem of her shirt, trying to look nonchalant but Arthur can see that she's genuinely interested in what he has to say. It makes him feel marginally better, it makes him feel _important_.

 

“They sure were,” he replies, but gives no further explanation. He resolutely doesn't think about the last time the university assigned him a student to help him out.

 

“Uh, so do you need me to help you with anything? I promise not to drop anything on you,” she jokes.

 

“No,” Arthur answers, “I'm fine.”

 

“Oh, okay. I'll visit you every day after class and oh!” She starts digging through her bag, looking for something. The thick-rimmed glasses she's wearing slide down her nose and she pushes them back with her knuckles, but a strand of hair catches on her ring. She yanks it out. “Aha!” she pulls her hand out of her bag and hands Arthur a piece of paper with a neatly printed phone number on it. The name _Elena_ is written under it. “I wrote it down because I wasn't sure I'd remember it,” she says, looking down at her hands. “Look, I know you must think I'm some incompetent... fool, but I promise you, I'm not! I just get flustered when I'm nervous.” All the time she's talking, she doesn't dare look at him. Arthur finds it rather endearing.

 

“I'll call you if I need anything, then,” he says, holding up the piece of paper she gave him. He hopes that's answer enough for her, because he's not sure what else to say.

 

She smiles brightly at him. “Yeah,” she says. “Okay, um, well, bye!” She turns around on her heel and takes a few quick steps, before she stops suddenly. “My name's Elena, by the way,” she adds, looking back at him over her shoulder.

 

“Says so on the card,” Arthur comments quietly to himself, still smiling. Maybe, just maybe, this whole thing won't be that bad after all.

 

~*~

 

He kept his eyes closed. His father was in the room and he was talking to someone. Arthur didn't recognize the voice. He was relatively certain it was his doctor. His father sounded upset. His voice was shaking. Arthur couldn't remember the last time he heard his father sound so broken.

 

He was still too out of it to focus on what they were saying. He picked up on his name, a few numbers and more than a few medical terms. He tried to tune out the voices by focusing on the heart monitor still beeping away. He couldn't tell which side it was on. He couldn't tell where anything in the room was just from the sounds. He started panicking. The beeping got faster.

 

The conversation stopped. Arthur squeezed his hand around the sheets covering him. His fingers barely moved.

 

“Arthur?” His father sounded infinitely closer now. The bed moved as his father sat down next to him. “Arthur, are you awake?”

 

The doctor was saying something about calling a nurse. Someone's hand was on Arthur's upper arm. Arthur wasn't ready, but he opened his eyes anyway.

 

~*~

 

“All of our buildings have elevators now,” Helena informs him as they proceed down the hallway. Arthur remembers having classes and exams in lecture halls on the floor below them, in that very same building. He's never been upstairs, though – whenever he needed to see a professor, he'd send someone to their office in his place or request a meeting somewhere he could get to. He looks around himself curiously, like a child rediscovering a long forgotten place. “The library is another floor up, should you ever need it, but you can access the virtual version via the temporary account we've set up for you on the university website.”

 

Arthur nods, his eyes scanning over a section of the wall with several framed photos on it. One of them is his. A white plaque underneath says _Famous graduates_. Arthur is both uncomfortable and flattered. He wonders how many students will recognize him – he hasn't changed that much physically.

 

“You'll be based in Gaius' office, right down the hallway here. There are seven other offices on this floor, but,” she pauses to give him a look he thinks is supposed to be in some way significant, but he can't interpret it, “I'll leave the socializing to you.”

 

Her high-heeled shoes click on the polished floor and her voice carries. He is quiet and his chair makes no sound. He imagines for a second what it must sound like from behind closed doors of the offices they're passing – one pair of footsteps and one voice. He covers an inappropriate laugh with a cough.

 

“Gaius lectures in other buildings as well, but we've scheduled all your lectures downstairs. For easy access.” He knows she expects him to be grateful, but all he feels is the sting of an insult. He doesn't comment, instead turning to read the name on the door to the office on his left (it's _Aredian_ and Arthur can't even believe the guy still teaches, he was ancient when he taught Arthurin _his_ first semester).

 

A door squeaks in front of them and Arthur turns. He recognizes Gaius' awful fashion sense before Gaius even turns. He looks much the same, his hair a little longer and a little whiter and his gait a little less steady. Still, it's definitely and unmistakably Gaius with his eyebrow still raised to make him look like he's perpetually judging everyone. Arthur is not sure why that in particular makes him nostalgic for the time when he could joke about Gaius and not feel guilty.

 

“Helena!” Gaius says, spreading his hands amicably.

 

“Gaius,” Helena replies. Arthur tries not to question their relationship.

 

Gaius murmurs something, noticing Arthur for the first time.

 

Arthur is not sure what kind of a greeting to expect. He took one year of Gaius' Intro to Pharmacy and he wasn't awful at it, but he didn't excel either. Based on his performance in class alone, he would've figured Gaius wouldn't even remember him. But there are other things he knows Gaius will remember. He wonders how much Merlin's told Gaius and if he should be worried.

 

“Doctor Pendragon,” Gaius just says professionally, extending a hand. Arthur takes it.

 

“Please, Arthur is fine,” he replies awkwardly, completely taken aback by one of his old professors referring to him by title.

 

“Hmm, very well then. Arthur.”

 

Arthur listens carefully for any resentment or reproach in Gaius' tone, but finds none. He's not sure if Gaius is a good actor or if he just doesn't know the whole story. Either way, he allows himself some relief.

 

“Let me show you my— well, for the time being it's _your_ office,” Gaius says, taking the few steps back to his office door. He goes to open them, but finds them locked. Arthur frowns. He just watched Gaius lock that door himself not three minutes ago. “Where did I put my keys now,” Gaius mumbles under his breath.

 

“They're in your hand,” Helena informs him, sounding like she does it every day. Arthur looks up at her, frowning. “Don't worry, he's retiring at the end of the year,” she whispers.

 

Gaius coughs. It sounds rather like Arthur's (clearly unsuccessful) attempt at hiding a laugh from earlier.

 

~*~

 

“A car accident?” he repeated as soon as he found his voice. He sounded like he had been swallowing gravel. His mouth felt dry even after two cups of water. His head hurt and he wished he could sit up, but the best they could do for him was raise his pillows up a little. His father was still talking but Arthur couldn't follow. He _felt_ his brain operating on _slow_.

 

He looked around the room as best as he could. He was alone. The bed next to his didn't even have sheets on. No doubt his father's doing. He wondered if his mother was in a single room as well. He wondered why his mother wasn't in the same room as him.

 

“Where's Mom?” he asked, ignoring the fact that his father was in the middle of a sentence. There was an awkward pause where his father almost looked caught off guard. Then he stood up and turned his back to Arthur.

 

“She's dead,” he said simply.

 

~*~

 

Arthur adjusts the microphone in front of him. His other hand is shaking when he picks up the paper with his lecture plan. For all that his time back at Camelot so far has been much better than he expected, being in front of an empty hall and watching more than a hundred students slowly pour in through the double door at the back is intimidating.

 

He wishes he wasn't sitting at a regular desk, brought in especially for his benefit. For some reason he expected something more solid in front of him, something that would hide the fact that he was a cripple. It's stupid, he realizes, these kids will have been told who he is, they will have done some, however meager, research; odds are that they already know about his injuries. Still, somehow, Arthur feels self-conscious sitting there, in front of so many people whose only plan for the next hour is to stare at him.

 

He stares down at his papers, waiting for the hustle and bustle to settle down. Looking at the bullet points of everything he needs to say (about his credentials, about his lab, about their work, a subtle mention of a few of his co-workers) calms him down. For someone who refused to prepare for this moment until only a week ago, he feels adequately ready.

 

When the noise has settled down, he looks up. It's funny, the seating arrangement is much the same as it has always been – the front row of unfamiliar faces is staring at him earnestly, their laptops at the ready; the far left side is reserved for groups of friends who, even this early into the hour, seem more interested in talking to each other and paying attention; the back rows are half-empty, and those who are there look like they're about to fall back asleep.

 

Arthur clears his throat pointedly. To his surprise, everyone sits up. And so does Arthur.

 

“Good morning,” he says, his voice booming from the speaker behind him. It doesn't shake. “My name is Doctor Arthur Pendragon and your next four lectures in bio-engineering will be with me. I specialize in spinal cord injuries...” He finds that, as he starts talking, he forgets that there are people there, listening, watching, _judging_. This is something he knows, something he is confident he could talk about in his sleep. The words come naturally and he quickly becomes so immersed in what he's saying that he manages to completely ignore it when someone starts to turn their ballpoint pen on and off rhythmically less than 15 minutes into his lecture.

 

~*~

 

Something was wrong. Well, something more than what Arthur had been made aware of. He could feel it in the way everybody treated him, in the way his father only even vaguely talked about taking him home, in the looks all the nurses gave him, in Morgana's silence whenever she sat with him. He focused on those things, latched onto them like a lifeline. It was better than thinking about the fact that he'd never see his mother again. It was better than thinking about how that was his fault.

 

At night, when no one was there and the room was so quiet he could only hear his own breathing, he would stare at the ceiling and think of all the ways that night could've gone differently. And then he would close his eyes and think of all the ways that night didn't go differently.

 

He didn't cry. He wanted to, but he couldn't. He didn't know why, but the tears just never came. It was shock, he told himself. It was numbness. It was denial. But it wasn't, he knew that. It wasn't that he couldn't accept the truth. It was just that the truth was that he didn't _deserve_ to be able to cry when this was all his fault.

 

So, instead, he thought about what it was that everyone was hiding from him. He already knew he had a broken arm, a concussion, a back injury. He already knew he couldn't move his legs, but when he asked anyone about that, they told him he was still healing, they told him to give it time.

 

Well, he'd given it time. He was supposed to go home tomorrow. He'd given it _enough_ time. His father had a meeting he couldn't reschedule and he wouldn't be there for Arthur's daily check-up. Arthur decided that was his time to ask whatever he wanted.

 

“How are you feeling today, Arthur?” Dr. Cavanaugh asked.

 

“The same.”

 

Dr. Cavanaugh nodded and wrote something down in Arthur's chart. “Are you excited to go home?”

 

Arthur ignored the question. He'd been thinking about this all day, and yet, he still didn't know how to ask what he already suspected. In the end he just looked at Dr. Cavanaugh's serious, but kind face and said, “I'm not getting better, am I?”

 

Dr. Cavanaugh sighed and sat down next to Arthur. He was in his mid-fifties by Arthur's estimate, but his hair was almost completely grey, making him look older. He had a deep, soothing voice. When Arthur first spoke to him, he wondered why he hadn't been a psychiatrist.

 

“Arthur,” he said calmly, like Arthur might freak out on him if he talked too fast or too loudly. Arthur suddenly wished with a burning passion that his doctor was some terse, uninterested asshole. Someone who wouldn't coddle him and try to help him. “You're young. Your injuries are... not as extreme as we originally thought. If there ever was a chance for recovery, you have it.”

 

“Don't lie to me,” Arthur replied. He was surprising himself by how calm he was being.

 

Dr. Cavanaugh gave him a long, hard look. “Odds are you will never walk again,” he finally conceded.

 

Arthur fell back against his pillows. It was the answer he'd been expecting. It was the answer he'd been wishing someone would finally actually give him, straight and honest. It was the answer he'd known for a while but needed someone to confirm.

 

“Are you okay?” Dr. Cavanaugh asked him carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, with complete sincerity. It wasn't the answer he wanted. But it was the answer he deserved.

 

~*~

 

The main office of his faculty building is blissfully empty when he goes to get some coffee. He has a fresh pot though, because apparently, someone didn't get the common decency memo. On a whim, he decides to check Gaius' mailbox (Gaius told him no mail _should_ arrive, but Gaius doesn't seem like he's exactly all there all the time; but then, Arthur is still undecided on whether that's the real state of things or if Gaius is just pretending so he can get an early retirement). Arthur can just about reach Gaius' mailbox, but it's way too high up for him to see inside it. He feels around it with his fingers and finds nothing. He reads a few more names on the mailboxes in front of him, some that he recognizes and a lot more that he doesn't. For a moment he imagines his own name on one of those mailboxes, he imagines knowing people and not just their names. He's not sure if he likes the idea or not.

 

His water is not boiling yet so he turns to the large schedule on the opposite wall. He wheels himself closer, only meaning to see if there are any new departments; he ends up reading the schedules of random professors, curious about the number of classes they have, the amount of free time. He finds a couple with the same last name in the Psychology department (siblings or married, he wonders) and either three people with an incredibly similar foreign last name or someone whose last name no one can spell properly in the Anthropology department.

 

And then he finds something he doesn't expect, a name he didn't think he'd read again, a person he thought he'd left behind, one Merlin Emrys.

 

Arthur suddenly feels cold all over.

 

~*~

 

Arthur was fine. He was fine as he sat on his bed and watched Morgana gather his things into a duffel bag and carry them out. He was fine when they helped him into a hospital wheelchair. He was fine when his father showed him the wheelchair they bought for him. He was fine on the car ride home. He was fine as he refused to think about all the changes he'd have to make in his life to accommodate his new condition. He was fine with subconsciously expecting his mother to meet them at home.

 

And then, when his father took him to his new room, to the room where his mother used to sleep, read, eat, work, _live_ , now filled with his stuff and redecorated to suit him, when his father left him there and walked out without a word, when the door closed and Arthur was left alone, he was suddenly not fine anymore.

 

In the end, it wasn't the pain and it wasn't what anyone said that broke him down. It was just seeing, for the first time, the consequences of his own stupidity. It was being finally and irrevocably made aware of the fact that his life had changed completely in that one moment. It was the guilt he felt when he looked at the room he was now taking over from his mother, probably the only person who truly had his back _always_.

 

In the morning he would meet the stay-in nurse his father had hired and he would have to face the anger he knew his father was rightly feeling toward him, but it wasn't morning yet so he allowed himself a moment of weakness and cried.

 

~*~

 

“Oi, you monster, get back here!” Morgana shouts. Arthur quickly lowers the volume on his laptop.

 

“Please tell me you didn't give him sweets after bed time. Which was _two hours ago_ , by the way.”

 

“Of course I did,” Morgana replies, managing to grab Mordred's arm as he tries to run past her. She pulls him into her side so the camera catches all of their face. “Say hello to daddy and then you can go run all you want,” she says, her nose pressed to Mordred's cheek.

 

“No, you can't run whe—“ Arthur tries to interject.

 

“Hi, Daddy,” Mordred says cheerfully, grinning. “Bye, Daddy,” he adds, waving and the disappearing from Arthur's screen. Arthur rubs his temples. He's getting a headache just looking at the mess back in his house.

 

“What, they don't have grandparents, and _someone_ needs to spoil them,” she says, shrugging.

 

“How are _you_ babysitting my children?” Arthur moans.

 

“Because Gwen had an emergency at the hospital. She apologizes for that, by the way.” Morgana reaches forward, somewhere where Arthur can't see, and her hand comes back with Arthur's favorite mug. Arthur raises both his eyebrows. “I wanted coffee,” Morgana replies, tipping her mug towards the camera. “Irish.”

 

“I have one too!” Morgause chimes in, also reaching towards the desk so she can show him the twin mug to Arthur's favorite, the one Gwen usually uses.

 

“Morgana, please tell me you're not feeding my children with chocolate and coffee,” he says slowly.

 

“Noooo,” Morgause replies instead in a sing-song voice. “Chocolate and more chocolate!” she explains, bringing the mug close to the camera. Arthur can see a marshmallow floating at the top.

 

Arthur sighs. “Are you trying to kill them with too much energy?”

 

“I'll have you know, you once told me that a chocolate bar combined with hot chocolate is the best dinner _ever_ ,” she says, mock-seriously.

 

“I was _thirteen_ ,” Arthur counters.

 

“Oh would you loosen up for once Arthur,” Morgana replies nonchalantly. “Go catch your brother,” she tells Morgause, who runs off immediately, screaming. “So, how are _you_ doing? Is being back at university as bad as you led me to believe it would be?”

 

For a moment, Arthur considers telling her that years ago, he let what could have been the relationship of his life slip through his fingers, that he didn't know how to go back, that he let it go and that now, for the first time since then, Merlin is within reach again. Arthur's whole body thrums at the thought, as if it's responding to the pull of an invisible force.

 

“Well?” Morgana prompts.

 

“Um, yeah, no, it's actually fine. Like you said, I forgot university wasn't actually that _bad_ ,” Arthur says, a split-second decision he knows he'll be questioning hours from now. “Have I told you about this girl who's helping me? Elena, she's cute as a button. Gwen would _love_ her.”

 

~*~

 

“You know, your friends are asking about you,” Morgana said.

 

Arthur snorted. “No, they're not.” He changed the channel on the TV.

 

Morgana didn't contradict him. She couldn't, Arthur knew. Maybe people had wondered why he stopped going to school in the first few weeks, but that was months ago. Arthur's friends weren't the kind to hold his hand through something like this. Arthur knew that. It had been so long since he'd made peace with that that he could almost pretend he didn't even need friends.

 

“Lancelot is,” Morgana eventually said.

 

Now it was Arthur's turn to have nothing to reply with. He knew Lancelot had been calling every day while he'd been in the hospital, and then every other day since he returned. He couldn't put his finger on why he didn't want to answer any of Lancelot's calls. Lance wouldn't be able to hear anything wrong in his voice, but Arthur knew Lancelot and he knew Lancelot knew him, so he was sure Lance would guess something was very wrong if they spoke.

 

He didn't want Lance to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. That was part of the reason why he never left the house anymore. The rest of the reason was the fact that he didn't see why he would go out – his father had agreed to get him tutors instead of sending him back to school and the things he used to do in his free time no longer had the same appeal.

 

The doorbell rang. Arthur was still not quite used to how loud it was now that he lived downstairs.

 

“That would be me,” Morgana said. “I should go.” She stood up and started towards the door, but then she turned around and came back. She bent over, hugged Arthur and kissed his cheek before leaving.

 

Arthur didn't know how he felt about the fact that Morgana had a social life now, while he sat at home, doing nothing. He was even more confused by the affectionate, almost sibling-like relationship he was developing with Morgana. For reasons unknown to him, she was there for him now. After years of making each other's lives miserable, they were becoming real family. Something in Arthur melted at the thought.

 

~*~

 

Elena always sits in the first row in his lectures, a bit off center, with a friend Arthur doesn't know but recognizes by now. She's smiling at him, the (wrong) tip of her pen pressed to her full lips, bright red with lipstick. She nods when she catches him looking at her.

 

The guy in the back, all the way to the right wall, he reminds Arthur of Gwaine. He's charming and attractive and clearly very bright, but also doesn't seem to care about anything. Or maybe's it's just Arthur's class that doesn't tickle his fancy.

 

The Asian girl in the very center of the auditorium is scribbling in her notebook. By the speed at which her arm is moving, Arthur can tell she's not writing. Probably doodling.

 

Arthur is aware of the fact that he hasn't spoken in several minutes. A few of the students are looking at him questioningly, and Elena seems to be getting genuinely concerned.

 

It's his last lecture here, his last opportunity to leave a good impression. Any impression. He thinks back to all the guest lecturers he knows visited his class years ago, and he knows most of their names and even their fields, but their lectures all meld together and he's sure he learned something in them, but for the life of him, he can't remember anything important, anything that stood out about any of them. He remembers his conversation with Gwen, hates to admit she may have been right all along, but he doesn't want to be just one more in the sea of random people these students will forget as soon as they leave the hall (or rather, will only remember as _the wheelchair guy_ and Arthur will be damned if he lets _that_ be what defines him in their minds).

 

“When I was here,” Arthur says before he can change his mind, “this university was only partially modified to accommodate disabled students. I had to find, well, creative ways to get what I needed. Or wanted.” He laughs as a memory surfaces in his mind. “Once, a friend actually, bodily carried me to exam because I couldn't reschedule with that particular professor.”

 

“Aredian,” Elena snorts, and the whole hall erupts with laughter. She squeaks and covers her mouth with both her hands, going crimson to the roots of her hair. Arthur laughs with the rest of them.

 

“Yeah, actually, it was him,” he admits. “The point is, it was difficult to have the same quality of education, the same opportunities as everyone else.” He pushes away from the desk in front of him and wheels out to sit next to it. He's weirdly dissociated from what he's saying, but he still can't look at anyone as he speaks. “And I thought, if only I was like everyone else. If only I could walk and run and go up the stairs. If only I could... fix myself.” The hall is eerily quiet. Arthur has to look up, if nothing else, then only to ensure that there are still people there. He notices Gaius standing in the back, by the door. He pays no mind. “And that is the story behind how I started university and how I finished it. The simple reason for everything I do.”

 

He lets out a long breath, feeling like he's been holding it for the last week. He clenches his fists for something to do other than wonder how long he's been waiting to say that. When he looks at his students again, he decides to focus on Elena – a familiar face, a supporter.

 

“The long story is, obviously, more complicated but... Whenever I thought about quitting, whenever I felt like this was too much for me, I'd think about the day when I will patent... something, something that will help me be _normal_ again.” Elena is still smiling at him, but it's softer now, her head cocked a little to the side, her head supported on her hands. She's looking at him with wide eyes, completely focused and _interested_. “I can stand— well, sit really,” he smiles sadly, a few of the students laugh quietly, “I could be here for weeks, talking to you about the newest discoveries in my field, the stem cell research, the improved wheelchair designs, the frankly Doc-Oc-like prototypes of artificial limbs...” More people laugh this time. Arthur leans forward. “It won't matter,” he says. “It won't matter if you don't know _why_ you're here.”

 

He sits back again. His skin is crawling, but it's not an uncomfortable sensation; it a muted kind of excitement and pride that makes him feel like he's just straightened up after spending years being hunched over. He catches the blur of the oversized used-teabag-color jacket Gaius is wearing before the door closes, but what he's really looking at is Elena's face, a ghost of a smile still on her lips, but her eyes unfocused and her fingers drumming absently on the leg of her glasses. He knows he can go home tomorrow safe in the certainty that his brief venture into teaching won't be completely forgotten.

 

~*~

 

“So what do you plan to do after high school?” Freya asked, closing the biology textbook and packing it away.

 

“Hm?”

 

“You know, when you pass your exams. What are you gonna study in university?” She was smiling down at him, a warm and friendly smile she always shared with everyone she met. Arthur liked her. She was always polite and kind and soft-spoken, and somehow, with her, it never felt fake.

 

“I don't plan on anything,” Arthur replied honestly. She had this effect on him, she made him feel like she wouldn't judge him, like he could be genuine with her. So he was.

 

“Oh, well that's all right,” she answered with a shrug. “I just thought you would, because you're very smart, you know? So I figured you would continue your education. But that's cool if you don't want to. Do you wanna be an artist or something like that?”

 

Arthur didn't know how to tell her that he said he didn't plan on anything, he meant that literally. He hadn't thought about any but the immediate future ever since the accident and he sure wasn't going to start now. He couldn't imagine himself in 10 years. Not only in relation to a certain profession or job, but at all. He felt that if he started thinking about that too closely, he wouldn't be able to stop until he thought himself into a depression he couldn't deny anymore. So he didn't think about it.

 

“Err, no, I... I'm thinking about university. I just don't know what I want,” he lied. He couldn't bring himself to tell Freya the truth this time.

 

“Oh! Well, you're good at math and stuff. And your dad has a family business, right? You could do economy,” she suggested. Arthur made a face. Crunching numbers for the rest of his life didn't sound like a dream job, no matter the favor it would probably gain him with his father if he suggested taking over the business. Freya laughed. “Okay, not economy then. What about biology? You're very good at it and it's infinitely more interesting!”

 

“I... I'll think about that.”

 

~*~

 

 _It could be your last chance to see him_ , he tells himself. _He won't notice_ , he thinks. _It doesn't mean anything, it won't change anything_ , he convinces himself. He turns the doorknob slowly and opens the door. It doesn't creak. He slips inside and closes the door behind him.

 

The classroom is much smaller than the hall where he taught, with barely enough space for 40 people. There's no microphone, no speakers, no platforms. Every seat is taken, though, two girls are even sharing one chair up front. Arthur licks his lips. This isn't how close he expected to get.

 

He finally lets his eyes go where they wanted to from the start – front and center, to the source of the calm and steady voice filling the room. The first glimpse is strange – both exhilarating and frightening, not unlike what Arthur imagines a drug-addict experiences at relapse. He lets a soft gasp escape him as Merlin's form comes into focus in front of him.

 

Merlin is leaning against his desk, slouching forward, his arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't look like a professor, not with those dark jeans, not with his untucked shirt and undone top buttons, not with the burgundy pullover hanging off his shoulder like it's two sizes too wide. He doesn't look as young as Arthur knows him to be, not with his hair long and messily settling against his forehead, or with the dark stubble covering his face.

 

He doesn't look like the Merlin Arthur remembers (or did he just make that Merlin up, idealizing the picture over the years), he's taller and paler and skinnier and Arthur's stomach turns (shock and regret and desire and _memories_ , so many memories) when he runs his long knobbly fingers through his hair.

 

He sounds exactly as Arthur remembers, though; his voice is smooth and quiet, but it fills every nook and cranny of the room, it fills Arthur's very bones, and Arthur is immediately hooked, drawn into the world Merlin is painting with his voice, and he can't move, and he can't breathe.

 

“...hypothesizes that language affects the very way we perceive the world,” Merlin is saying, the words reaching Arthur's ears, but not his brain, unimportant, unnecessary. “But without going to extremes, we can still agree that language and culture are knit tightly together, inseparable and mutually dependent. Which is why it is important to remember that you cannot—“

 

It feels like hours, the moment in which their eyes meet, the immediate recognition he reads on Merlin's face, followed by a flash of an emotion Arthur doesn't have the time to catch, the shudder that goes through him, the sensation of air being sucked out from the room... And then it's gone. Merlin looks away.

 

“...teach language without teaching culture. This is part of the reason why Latin is still so popular, the fact that we want to know more about...”

 

Arthur doesn't wait for Merlin to finish the sentence. He turns around and leaves.

 

~*~

 

Morgana handed him the stack of shirts from the dresser. “So how is this even gonna work? Like, do you have a... roommate or something?” she asked.

 

“Um. I don't really know?” Arthur answered. “Pretty sure a nurse will be visiting me weekly or something. No roommates though, thank god.”

 

“Yeah, who could stand living with _you_?” she teased. Arthur rolled his eyes for show. The truth was, he was glad someone was still treating him like a normal person and joking with him.

 

“Shut up, you'd _love_ to be my roommate!”

 

“Are you kidding? I can't wait for you to be on your way,” she said. Her voice didn't shake and she was smirking, but Arthur could see she was lying.

 

She was worried about him. He was worried too. It was a huge change to make, going from spending all his time at home, surrounded by people who knew him, living in an environment he could navigate with his eyes closed to living away from home, where he would have to be a lot more self-sufficient and independent. He wasn't taking the move lightly either. He'd been doing his physiotherapy almost religiously over the year he took off, until he was sure he'd be able to move around on his own without much trouble. He'd started going out more, putting himself in situations that challenged him. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, especially in the beginning, but with a little help from Morgana (who really, mostly just yelled at him until he relented and obeyed her), he pushed himself until he was fairly certain he'd be able to live on his own for most of the year.

 

In the end, he was happy he'd decided to go on to university. It didn't only force him to start living again, but it made him at least marginally more comfortable with himself.

 

He went to close his suitcase when Morgana stopped him. “You're forgetting something,” she said as she handed him a plain, wooden picture frame. In it was a photo of the two of them with Arthur's parents in a park where they had a picnic the first weekend after Morgana arrived. The photo itself wasn't a particularly good one – the light was off, ageing them all by at least five years, but more importantly Morgana and Arthur were scowling at each other, while Ygraine was awkwardly trying to hug them both without any apparent preference and Uther was just sort of standing to the side. Morgana had drawn smiles on all of their faces with a sharpie though.

 

Arthur put the photo in his suitcase quickly, before he could get emotional about it.

 

~*~

 

There's a knock on his door. “Coming!” he shouts, looking around for a place to put the tracksuit he sleeps in. Eventually he just, throws it back on the bed. Whoever it is (he'd wager it's Elena, except she doesn't knock), they'll have to be understanding of the fact that he's packing.

 

He pauses in front of the door to run his fingers through his hair. There's a tea stain on his shirt pocket, he realizes, but it's too late to change his clothes now. He shakes his shoulders to release the stiffness and opens the door.

 

“Ah, Arthur, I was hoping I'd find you here. Packing?”

 

“Uh, yes,” Arthur replies. He wheels backwards in an arch. “Please, come in. I should warn you, it's quite a mess.”

 

“Understandably,” Gaius replies. He carefully folds a jacket and puts it away before sitting on the corner of the bed. “You may have noticed, I decided to check in on your last lecture,” he says.

 

“I saw.” Arthur is not sure what this visit is all about, but Gaius' tone sounds professional. He hopes it's not some sort of a review, because while he's actually pretty happy with his last lecture, his previous three now seem subpar.

 

“Arthur...” Gaius leans over, the tips of his fingers pressed together in front of his face. His hands are shaking. “You could be a great teacher,” he says. “With some practice, of course,” he adds with a smirk. “You have this...” he waves a hand in the air, “natural air of authority, leadership about you. People _want_ to listen. And I think you have things to say.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Look, son,” Gaius starts; Arthur barely manages not to flinch at the word, “I've been trying to retire for years and Helena has always found reasons to keep me. I've resorted to feigning dementia, for Pete's sake!” Arthur snorts; he knew he was right from the start. “The truth is, the department is understaffed. Not many people in your particular field want to teach, and I'm sure you can relate to their reasons.” Gaius' eyebrow climbs a little higher. Arthur shrugs complacently; everyone he works with is interested in research, so it's not like he can contradict what Gaius is saying. “But you could be exactly what this university is looking for.”

 

“Are you offering me a job?” Arthur asks, caught between laughing because this has to be a joke and getting a drink because this might not be a joke after all.

 

“Eventually,” Gaius replies. “Right now, I'm offering you another lecture or two. Or five. An opportunity to decide if this is for you.”

 

Arthur rubs a hand over his face. “I'll think about it,” he promises.

 

“Find me in the morning.”

 

~*~

 

_part 3: and i know perhaps my heart is farce_

 

~*~

 

Jessica handed him a large yellow folder. “That's everything we'll be doing this year, you have lecture plans and lists of books you'll need, assignments – everything.” She was talking fast, probably in a hurry to get to class. “I tried to get us moved somewhere more... accessible,” she said apologetically, and Arthur knew what was going to follow, “but they won't move an entire class for only one student. I'm sorry.” And she sounded genuinely so. Arthur was grateful she even tried.

 

He was the only disabled student majoring in bio-engineering and medical biology. Most of his professors were very forthcoming, helping him whenever and however they could, but their good will only went so far. Arthur still had to work pretty hard to manage everything and keep up. He found that he didn't mind much. Having a lot on his plate and little free time was good; it left him exhausted and didn't give him much space to pity himself. When he had to work a lot, he felt more... capable.

 

“That's all right,” Arthur said with a smile. The folder was heavy in his hands, but when he put it on his lap, he couldn't even feel it anymore. He focused on Jessica's face. “Thank you, though.” He smiled at her. She looked away. Arthur recognized the look on her face. He remembered seeing it on other people. Before the accident. He blushed.

 

“Right, well. Um, I've gotta go, I have class. Have a good day, Arthur.”

 

Arthur watched her leave. She was only an assistant, young and beautiful and smart, hardly a few years older than him. He liked her. At the same time, he was happy there was no chance anything would ever happen between them. He couldn't imagine being with Jessica, taking her out for a walk without actually being able to walk, having to ask her to lean over when he wanted to kiss her, taking her to bed. Hell, he wasn't even sure he _could_ do that; he hadn't had an erection ever since the accident.

 

He shook his head and steered his thoughts towards more practical things – he had textbooks to order, projects to work on and essays to write. He was pretty sure Morgana had replied to his e-mail too. He decided then and there that a day would come when he no longer had to wonder about these things. A day would come when he would be able to fix himself. He held onto that thought; it was a goal he felt would guide him to success, a desire he would never abandon.

 

~*~

 

“Wait, so how much longer are you gonna stay?” Elena asks, picking at a thread in her polka-dotted sock. The other one has cats on it.

 

“I don't know,” Arthur answers honestly, chewing on his lips as he tries to think of a way to justify himself to Mithian for not coming back yet. “Gaius said however long you want. Actually,” he laughs, “Gaius said _the whole year if you can_.”

 

“Oooh, can you?”

 

“No,” Arthur sighs. “I have to go back. Soon. Or my wife might kill me. If our kids don't kill her first.”

 

He looks briefly at his Skype window – Gwen is not online yet. She was, in fact, very supportive when he told her he wanted to stay a while longer, she was happy for him, but Arthur could tell she was exhausted. He knew it wasn't fair that he was leaving her hanging. Especially not when he was doing it for the wrong reasons.

 

“You know, everyone really enjoyed your last lecture,” she says, playing with a strand of hair. Her glasses start sliding down and she scrunches up her nose to stop them. “Was that inappropriate?” she asks her own feet.

 

“Only because it was a lie,” Arthur replies, reaching over and tapping her forehead. She pushes his hand away.

 

“No, it wasn't!”

 

“Please, I remember how much we hated when lecturers told us about their shit. We hated it!” He turns and heads to get some water from the kitchenette. Elena stands up and follows him. She leans on his counter and waits till he's started to drink to reply.

 

“You pretended to hate it because it was cool to be an asshole,” she says, pointing an accusing finger at him. He only frowns, deciding an actual response is not worth the risk of choking on water and coughing for five minutes. Which is, of course, exactly what Elena was aiming for. “But why would I expect you to understand? You're old!”

 

“I am not _old_ ,” Arthur replies, putting his glass down. “But congratulations on a successful topic change.”

 

Elena blushes and shrugs a shoulder. “Whatever, I'm still glad you're staying,” she says. “Do you have any laundry you need done?”

 

~*~

 

Arthur pulled out the _Intro to Genetics I_ from the shelf and added it to the pile on his lap. He rolled the wheels of his chair towards the nearest desk. He pushed two chairs apart and sat as close to the desk as he could. The books were spread out over the desk in front of him. He sighed. This essay would be the death of him.

 

A few desks over, a small group sat with their heads close together, whispering. Objectively, they weren't being too loud. But Arthur was on edge already, stressed from so much work and panicking from the sheer amount of information he needed to gather in order to finish his essay. He felt like everyone around him was yelling at him and he couldn't concentrate.

 

He put his head down on the book and took a few deep breaths. He was overcome with a sudden confusion over why he even bothered with university. Then he remembered why.

 

He sat back up and continued looking for the chapter he needed. He tried to ignore everyone around him, but something kept dragging his attention away from the book. One of the voices coming from the annoying group sitting close by was familiar. _Very_ familiar.

 

Arthur looked over. A couple of guys and a girl were sitting with their backs to him and two more guys sat across from them. At first glance, Arthur didn't recognize anyone. But then he looked closer at one of the guys facing away from him. He was four years older than when Arthur last saw him, his hair was shorter and he was wearing a dress shirt which threw Arthur for a loop initially. But it was definitely him.

 

“Lancelot?” Arthur called, nervous and excited at the same time. He had no clue what to expect from Lancelot, having steadfastly refused any contact with him in so long. But seeing Lancelot there, so close to him once again, it hit Arthur how much he'd really missed having Lance as a friend.

 

Lancelot turned around, a big, friendly, painfully familiar smile on his face. He looked around in confusion, but then his eyes landed on Arthur. Arthur smiled tentatively. He watched apprehensively as recognition flashed over Lancelot's face. “Arthur?” he asked, sounding surprised and, well, elated. Arthur's face burned when everyone Lancelot was sitting with turned to look at him.

 

Before Arthur could get too embarrassed, though, Lancelot was already walking toward him. Arthur wanted to stand up, hug Lancelot properly, but all he could do was watch Lancelot's face, more confused by the second. He closed his eyes and pushed the chair out so Lancelot could see him properly for the first time in years. Like pulling a Band-Aid, right?

 

To his credit, Lancelot either really didn't react, or covered it up well. Arthur felt such a sudden rush of affection for Lancelot that he almost wanted to cry and when Lancelot hugged him, Arthur felt better than he had ever since the accident. If he held onto Lancelot for a little longer than it was appropriate, Lancelot didn't react.

 

“Everyone, this is my friend Arthur, I told you about him, if you remember?” Lancelot said to his friends. Arthur's throat closed up. “Arthur, these are Gwen, Gwaine, Leon and Elyan.”

 

“Hi.” It was more of a question than an actual greeting. Arthur felt like he was 12 again, socially awkward and a little shy and very, very nervous for approval.

 

“Hey, mate,” one of the guys (Gwaine?) replied. “Come on, join us.”

 

Arthur glanced back at the work waiting for him. He thought about it for a few seconds. There was always coffee back in the dorm. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

 

~*~

 

Arthur checks the schedule taped to the inside of the front cover of his book. He has an hour and a half before Gwen gets home. Elena has a few more classes and she's going out with friends after that anyway. Other than Gaius (whom Arthur respects and likes but doesn't necessarily want to bond much with), she's the only person Arthur has anything more than a fleeting acquaintance with here. There was a time when he preferred to be alone, he remembers. Now, it appears, he's used to being surrounded by people. It's weird to be alone so much.

 

Briefly, he considers sitting in on Merlin's lecture again (he's only seen Merlin's schedule once, but it's etched into his memory and every time he has a moment to himself, he can't resist going through it and imagining what Merlin's doing at that particular moment; it's like not a day has passed since they were sharing a room and a bed and a life), but Merlin's reaction, or rather lack thereof, felt like rejection and Arthur doesn't want to go through that again.

 

Arthur is halfway down the ramp when the door opens. He figures it's one of the students, someone who forgot something, so he doesn't even look up. Once he's off the ramp though, the other person clears their throat. Arthur looks up.

 

The door is closed again and Merlin is standing just in front of it. His hands are in his pockets and the strap of his letter bag rests against his chest. His hair is in his face so Arthur can't see his expression clearly, but his mouth is turned down in a stern line. As if on instinct, Arthur starts to move towards him.

 

“Please don't come closer,” Merlin says. In the empty room, Arthur can hear him as clearly as if he were standing right in front of him.

 

There are so many things that come to the forefront of Arthur's mind, so many things he needs to say, he should say, he _wants_ to say. He doesn't even know what to start with – _I'm sorry, I missed you, how are you,_ get out. At first, all that comes out is a quiet, garbled sound stuck somewhere in his chest. He clears his throat.

 

“Merlin,” is all he manages to get out.

 

“Arthur,” Merlin replies. He sounds artificially calm, he sounds like he's forcing himself to be bland, neutral.

 

“Um, what are you doing in, uh, in my classroom?” Arthur asks, moving forward again before he remembers to stop. Merlin takes a step back.

 

“I came here to ask you the same question. Only, I had the decency to wait until you were alone.”

 

Arthur swallows thickly. “I... saw your name on the schedule. I wanted to see you. Before I left,” he explains.

 

“You're still here,” Merlin replies.

 

“I... It wasn't the plan.”

 

“I know what the plan was!” Merlin shouts. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he flinches back like he scared himself. “Gaius asked me before he invited you,” he adds, his tone back to its normal volume.

 

“Wait, you knew I was here?” Arthur asks, confused. He's not sure why he assumed Merlin was unaware of his presence, maybe because somewhere deep down he expected, he _hoped_ Merlin would have come looking for him. It hurts that he didn't.

 

“Of course I knew. I figured, after how we left things, we would avoid each other to our mutual benefit. Isn't that how you deal with things?” The reproachfulness sneaks into his tone towards the end and Arthur is temporarily glad to be far enough not to have to face Merlin's wrath. He looks away, licks his lips, cracks his fingers. He knew, rationally, that Merlin would likely be hurt and angry, but being forced to see and hear it firsthand makes the guilt burn in his stomach with a new heat. “Just...” Merlin's voice is quieter and he sounds choked up. He runs a hand over his face. “Please stay away from me,” he says before he quickly gets out.

 

~*~

 

Arthur twisted in the bed until he was lying on his back. It was already light outside. He put an arm over his eyes and grumbled.

 

“You up?” came Merlin's voice from the kitchen. Arthur grumbled again. He hoped that, maybe, if he didn't open his eyes, Merlin would somehow disappear. He missed the time when he was alone in the room. “Hey, you want coffee?”

 

Arthur squinted through one eye. Merlin's head was poking out from the kitchenette. His hair was a mess and he was still wearing his pajamas; he'd obviously also just gotten up. But he was _smiling_. Arthur didn't trust people who smiled in the morning. He just mumbled what he hoped Merlin would understand as both a _yes coffee now_ and _get the fuck out of my face_. Merlin laughed at him.

 

In all honesty, Arthur was still having trouble getting used to Merlin. Merlin was friendly and talkative and almost always in a good mood and Arthur... well, Arthur was none of those things. Moreover, Arthur wasn't used to spending so much of his time with someone like Merlin. He knew Merlin was supposed to be there to help him, but he wasn't sure his father's plan was working. It'd been three weeks since they'd moved in and saying that things got off to a shaky start would be an understatement. They kept literally bumping into each other and proverbially stepping on each other's toes.

 

One thing Arthur had to admit was that Merlin was _trying_. He was incredibly perceptive, Arthur had to give him that, and he picked up on Arthur's peeves and rules and likes quickly. Arthur was just being difficult on purpose. He didn't know what it was about Merlin, but he just made Arthur want to push his buttons. To his credit, Merlin knew how to call Arthur out on his bullshit without actually being an ass about it. Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about Merlin yet.

 

Merlin put the coffee on his nightstand. “You know it's almost midday, right?” he said. Arthur didn't think Merlin had any right to comment when he had so obviously just gotten up as well.

 

“Shut up,” he replied into his forearm.

 

Of course, Merlin didn't. “I'm hungry,” he whined. “I suppose I could go to the store. But I just can't be bothered to get dressed.”

 

Arthur considered leaving Merlin to his monologue, but the truth was that he was hungry too. He sat up and took a sip of his coffee. It was a little too sweet, but he didn't complain about it. “If you go to the store, I'll cook.”

 

Arthur fully expected Merlin to ask him if he even could cook, if he needed help, if he was sure he didn't want Merlin to cook instead. But Merlin just grinned the most brilliant smile at him. “Deal,” he agreed, already jumping off the bed. He was gone without saying anything else. Arthur thought that maybe they would make it work somehow.

 

~*~

 

“No, Arthur, I _do_ get it,” Gwen sighs, rubbing her forehead. “I was the one who wanted you to give this a chance, remember?”

 

“And that's all I'm doing!” Arthur replies. It's only partially a lie, so he thinks he can get away with it. “I'm actually... beginning to enjoy this.” And that's not even partially a lie.

 

“And I'm glad you are. But I have work and the kids are spending a _lot_ of time with Morgana and I'm sure you have a pretty good idea where this is going now,” Gwen says with a laugh.

 

“Yeah, nowhere good,” Arthur replies.

 

“And I miss you,” Gwen adds quietly.

 

“I miss you too,” Arthur says. It sounds honest, but it _feels_ like a lie, like he's only saying it because he knows it's what he _should_ say. He squeezes the arm rest of his chair under the desk. “Look, it's only till the end of the semester,” he argues. He's not sure if he's convincing her or himself that this is a good idea. “And then I'll be home and we can take it from there.”

 

Gwen takes a while to think it over. “Alright,” she agrees eventually. “Do you need me to send you more stuff?”

 

Arthur looks back at the bed where his newly washed clothes are folded in neat piles. They aren't as soft as he's used to and they don't smell as good as when he washes them at home, but they're clean. “I'll be fine. I'll buy anything else I need,” he replies.

 

“Okay. Alright.”

 

~*~

 

“Well, no offence, Arthur, but you really aren't the easiest person to help,” Gwen said honestly. Arthur didn't bother trying to contradict. “Maybe you should, you know, go a little easy on him.”

 

“I don't wanna go easy on him! I don't wanna go anything on him! I don't want him _there_!” Arthur almost yelled. He looked around them, but the yard was almost empty because of the cold weather so there was no one to hear him.

 

“Oh, Arthur. I know you feel like your father doesn't believe you can do this on your own...” Arthur didn't remember ever telling her that, but he knew she was right. He didn't bother pretending she didn't have a point. “But that's not Merlin's fault. If anything, he sounds really nice!”

 

Arthur snorted. Yeah, he was sure Merlin sounded nice. But when he was there as a living reminder that Arthur needed _help_ , that other people thought he needed help, whether he was nice didn't really matter much. Arthur would resent the fact that he was there if Merlin was the nicest person he'd ever met.

 

“Come on, be honest,” Gwen warned him. “He's doing well isn't he? That's why you're so mad. You _like_ him being there.”

 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I do _not_ ,” he answered. Gwen swatted his arm. “Fine, that's bullshit. He's... He's pretty good.”

 

~*~

 

The hall is more crowded than he expects and through the mass of variously sized bodies of unfamiliar students Arthur can barely make out the door to Merlin's classroom when it opens. The students pour out, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Arthur waits until they're all outside before he moves closer. Merlin gets out and closes the door behind himself. He takes the keys out of his pocket and locks the door with practiced ease, puts his keys away in his bag. Arthur follows his every move.

 

Merlin doesn't look in Arthur's direction. Arthur is torn between his mind telling him to make an approach and his body not listening to him. He remembers Merlin in his lecture hall, rows upon rows of seats between them and Arthur could still _feel_ how hurt Merlin was. He watches Merlin's back as Merlin walks away.

 

~*~

 

“Are you _trying_ to kill me with sexual frustration?” Merlin grunted, shoving the t-shirt over his head. He straightened it out and ran his hands over his chest and stomach, wiping the sweat away. “Shit,” he cursed when he noticed the t-shirt was turned inside out. He took it off and put it back on the right way.

 

Arthur watched him from the other side of the bed. “I'm sorry,” he apologized honestly.

 

“No,” Merlin said, standing up. “It's fine. I just... I don't get it,” he admitted. He licked his lips and ran his hands through his hair. Arthur mimicked the movement without being aware of it. His whole upper body angled itself towards Merlin. “You do want to, right?” he asked, frowning like it had only then occurred to him. “I mean it's fine if you don't,” he added quickly, “or, or can't...” He let the end of the sentence hang in the air awkwardly. “I would just prefer to know now,” he explained.

 

Arthur himself wasn't even sure how to answer that. “I want to,” he said, figuring that at least he could say with confidence.

 

“But?”

 

Arthur scratched the tip of his nose more harshly than he'd intended. “I don't know how!” he finally admitted, frustrated with the situation, with himself, with Merlin's understanding. It was stifling.

 

“Oh,” Merlin just said. He rubbed the back of his neck, his mouthing twisting into weird shapes like it sometimes did when his brain was working in overdrive. He sat down next to Arthur, their legs touching. He put a hand on Arthur's forearm. “We'll do some research. And experimenting. We'll figure something out.”

 

Arthur took a deep breath. “What if I can't?” he asked. He couldn't make himself look at Merlin. “What if I can _never_ have sex again?”

 

Merlin squeezed his arm. “Then you can't,” he simply said.

 

Arthur looked up. “And you?”

 

“Oh, I can,” Merlin replied with a grin, looking pointedly at his lap. Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don't worry, I've picked up on enough tricks in the last few weeks to last me for years to come.” He looked to the side and bit his lip before turning back to Arthur. “Come, get it?” he asked, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Arthur did his best to give him his most unimpressed face. He didn't think it really worked. “Besides,” Merlin continued, climbing the bed and crawling over to sit in Arthur's lap, “plenty of other ways to have fun.” He ran his hands over Arthur's chest and tipped his head up to kiss him. Arthur kissed back, slowly relaxing. Merlin put their foreheads together, his fingers stroking over Arthur's cheek. “It's okay,” he said.

 

~*~

 

Arthur is not sure what to make of the fact that Merlin is sitting on the steps in front of his housing building. He's reading a book, an old, worn hardback. His finger is running over the page, tracing straight lines. It stops abruptly when Arthur approaches.

 

“I thought you wanted me to stay away,” Arthur says. His heart is beating faster. Merlin could be there to yell at him and call him names and curse him and ask him to leave, or he could be there to talk, but either way, it's contact. It's more than Arthur thought he'd get.

 

“So did I,” Merlin replies, pulling a bookmarker from the back of the book and putting it between the pages as he closes the book. He stands up, straightening his long legs gracefully. Arthur can't look away. “I know you were there,” Merlin says, crossing his arms over his chest. Arthur swallows audibly. “No excuses?”

 

Arthur looks Merlin straight in the eye. Merlin doesn't look quite as angry this time. “None,” Arthur replies.

 

“At least you're honest.”

 

Arthur wants to smile. He wants to get closer. He wants to invite Merlin in. He does none of those things, just stays where he is and watches as Merlin gets closer. He puts his hands on the armrests of Arthur's chair and leans in. Arthur forgets to breathe.

 

Merlin breaks the spell, snorting and letting his head fall. “Whatever I tell you, you're not gonna listen, are you?” he says. “You never were very good at following advice.” He stands up. Arthur wishes he could follow. Instead, all he can do is just watch Merlin as he looks around himself. “I haven't been to this part of the campus since... Since you left.”

 

Arthur's throat closes up. He's not sure how to respond. He remembers that day, remembers the rain, the car that came for him; he remembers promising Merlin it wasn't over. He squeezes his eyes shut, hoping it will make the memory go away. “This is where we met,” he says, the only thing he can think of that is not an empty apology.

 

“I know,” Merlin replies, looking down at Arthur. A corner of his mouth lifts up the slightest bit. Arthur swears he can feel himself getting physically lighter with hope. “You told me not to help you.”

 

“You did anyway.”

 

“Yeah, not the best solution, was it?”

 

“I got over it,” Arthur says, letting himself smile just a bit.

 

“Eventually,” Merlin replies. He looks up for a moment, biting his bottom lip, then looks back at Arthur with a smile that looks just a little sad. “So,” he says.

 

“So,” Arthur repeats.

 

“Do you... think you need some help getting in?”

 

“Yeah, I could use some.”

 

~*~

 

Merlin's hair tickled at Arthur's chin as Merlin bit at his neck. “I knew you'd ace that test,” he said, the words muffled from the way Merlin's lips were pressed to Arthur's throat. “I keep telling you, you're damn good at this shit.”

 

Arthur slid his hand under Merlin's t-shirt and stroked Merlin's back. “Yeah, I think I might be,” he agreed with a smile. Merlin just hummed in response. Merlin's hands were pressed against Arthur's chest, the eternally cold tips of his fingers jarring on Arthur's warm skin. Arthur's free hand found its way to Merlin's hair and he tilted Merlin's head back up to kiss him. Not surprisingly, Merlin kept squirming under Arthur's hands and Arthur wanted to push up into the warmth of Merlin's body, but all he could do was pull Merlin closer. Merlin easily, happily went down from his knees to lying flat on top of Arthur. It was an odd sensation – Arthur could feel the pressure and the heat of Merlin lying on top of him everywhere, but on the bottom half of his body everything was muted and dull, like their bodies were immersed in water.

 

Merlin's hands teased over Arthur's sides, pausing to squeeze his hips. His fingers hooked in the waistband of Arthur's tracksuit and pulled on it just a little bit, as a warning or a question, Arthur wasn't sure. Either way he shook his head, and to underline his point, he took Merlin's wrists and moved his hands back to his upper body.

 

Merlin didn't even skip a beat, letting Arthur take control. Merlin always did that, and Arthur appreciated it. He knew it had to be extremely frustrating for Merlin to be allowed such freedom in certain things (Arthur was happy to let Merlin do pretty much anything to him, so long as it was above the waist), only to have it denied later. But Merlin, for all his impatience otherwise, was very understanding to Arthur's boundaries. Hell, at this point, Arthur was pretty sure he was more frustrated with himself than Merlin was.

 

Merlin twined their legs together, then started slowly, but purposefully moving against Arthur. Arthur moaned. It felt good; not enough, but good. Mostly Arthur just liked watching Merlin and his reaction; he rank in every sound Merlin made and every expression on his face, and mostly that was enough for him. Mostly.

 

Somewhere on an intellectual level, Arthur knew that there was a very realistic possibility he could have a more or less normal sex life. And if there was ever person he should test that possibility with, it was probably Merlin. Merlin turned him on, Merlin knew what he was doing and most importantly, Merlin respected Arthur and Arthur trusted Merlin not to laugh at him no matter what.

 

But every time things threatened to go just a little further than clumsy making out sessions, no matter how many times Arthur told himself he would bit his lip and just _take it_ , something always forced him to push Merlin away. He was about to do it again, his hands on Merlin's shoulders, when Merlin pulls back himself.

 

“Please, don't,” he whispered. “Please don't push me away.” He was looking Arthur in the eye, his cheeks flushed and his forehead glistening with sweat. The scarce light created deep shadows on his face, making his cheekbones stand out starkly and his eyes glint.

 

“I—“ Arthur started, but had no idea what to say. Merlin took advantage of his confusion, dove forward to press his lips to Arthur's again. Their faces were so close that Arthur couldn't see Merlin clearly because it hurt to try to make his eyes focus.

 

“Close your eyes,” Merlin said. He put both of his hands on the sides of Arthur's face, his thumbs gently tracing Arthur's eyebrows. After a second of hesitation, Arthur obeyed. Merlin kissed both of his closed eyelids. “Just close your eyes and trust me,” he whispered, kissing Arthur's forehead, then his nose, his lips and chin. One of his hands fell to Arthur's lap, the warmth of it muted on Arthur's skin, but still definitely there.

 

“Merlin...”

 

Merlin bit at Arthur's collarbone. “Unless you are seriously about to tell me to stop, shut up.” His hand quickly slid up Arthur's leg and cupped him through his boxers. Arthur's head fell back and he moaned. “That's better,” Merlin said somewhere from around Arthur's stomach.

 

~*~

 

“Look, Arthur, I know you're going through something that can only be described as a really lame version of a mid-life crisis,” Morgana says, capping her nail polish, “but we would all very much appreciate it if you could either solve it faster or postpone it.”

 

“You're in a night gown, wearing makeup and doing your nails,” Arthur replies.

 

“Which is relevant to this conversation how exactly?”

 

“I'm just saying, right now you don't really look like someone whose advice I should take,” Arthur says tartly.

 

“Cute,” Morgana answers with the most innocent face. “Leon is coming home tonight. But back to the point,” she looks at the camera seriously and Arthur promptly exits full screen, “you should come home.”

 

“You all _wanted_ me to do this!” Arthur is happy to find that the anger at everyone telling him what to do is beginning to successfully mask both the hope of reconnecting with Merlin that's bubbling inside him and the guilt he feels at having said hope.

 

“That was before you decided to move out without giving notice first.”

 

“I didn't move out,” Arthur interrupts before Morgana can start the tirade.

 

“You'll be away for almost three months!” Morgana counters. “Don't you think that's a little unfair to Gwen?”

 

Arthur sighs. This was one of the reasons why he hated going to Morgana with his problems – she could always figure what was wrong and what to say to make Arthur realize it too. Of all the things that have been bothering him about staying in Camelot, by far the worst one was the thought of what the whole situation meant for Gwen and their family. When he first got to Camelot, the first few nights he spent without Gwen, he felt lost. He wasn't sure how to fill his time with no one there to take care of and no one there to take care of him. But now, he barely even finds it odd to go to bed alone and Gwen rarely crosses his mind in a context that's not closely related to their daily Skype calls. Mordred and Morgause he still misses every time he enters his room and doesn't find a total mess, but the truth is that he's falling back to his old ways – he's pushing people away and he's embracing his solitude.

 

“Arthur, what's really going on?” Morgana asks.

 

“Merlin works here. We've been... talking.”

 

“Oh.”

 

~*~

 

Arthur stretched his arms over his head. His shoulders were sore. He made the mental note to start working out more. His old bed was softer than what he was used to. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it was unusual. Morgana wasn't back from university yet, still helping some friend or another find a place to rent, and his father was out somewhere, drinking. The house was huge and quiet. And empty.

 

Arthur liked to think that the suffocating loneliness around him was the result of the perfect storm of replacing a pretty cramped shared room for a huge empty house, but when he looked over to the side of his bed, he knew he was lying to himself. He spread out his arms and ran his hands over the sheets.

 

He was used to waking up either to Merlin's face scrunched up against his shoulder and Merlin's limbs all over him, or to the sounds of Merlin in the kitchen, usually wolfing down whatever leftovers they had in the fridge. He was used to coming home to a room obviously shared by two people. He was used to going to sleep feeling Merlin's breath on his neck, seeing Merlin's face. He closed his eyes embarrassed to find them wet with tears.

 

He imagined he could feel the cellphone burning a hole through his head from under his pillow. He pulled it out and started to type Merlin's number when he realized he didn't remember it anymore. He scrolled through his contacts until Merlin's name was glowing at him from the screen. He was on the verge of calling, just to hear Merlin's voice, even if it was through tears or angry shouting. He could imagine Merlin lying in his own bed, maybe looking at his own phone in that very moment, waiting for a call.

 

But then he thought about what their future would look like – a long distance relationship with a cripple was not something Arthur wanted for Merlin, it was so much less than what Merlin deserved. _Arthur_ was so much less than Merlin deserved.

 

Merlin would find someone else, he was sure, someone better, someone _whole_. And in time, they'd both get over it, they'd move on and forget. Arthur would get a good job, he would do what he was the best at, he'd work hard and he knew that could easily be enough for him.

 

He put the phone away, his decision made.

 

~*~

 

Merlin is already there when Arthur finds the cafe. He's sitting by the window, right next to the door and the chair opposite him has been moved. Arthur's mouth quirks – Merlin still remembers.

 

“Hey,” Merlin greets him when he goes inside, not looking up from his book.

 

“Hi,” Arthur replies. “Thank you. For meeting me,” he adds, feeling like it's important for Merlin to hear that. He has no illusions here, he knows he's the one who needs to make amends.

 

This time Merlin does look up, his eyebrows slightly raised. “No problem,” he says, sounding surprised. “I ordered for both of us. You still take your coffee sweet, right?”

 

“Actually, you're the one who got me hooked on sweet coffee,” Arthur admits.

 

“Really?” Merlin asks, putting his book away. “Sorry, I was just finishing a chapter. You never told me that.”

 

“Yeah, there's been a lot of that going on, hasn't there?”

 

Merlin scoffs. “Yeah.”

 

They sit in silence until their orders arrive (Merlin is drinking tea, mint by the smell of it). It's awkward, but at the same time, it's not. It's the first time they've been out somewhere and there's tension in the air between them, but when Arthur looks over it's still Merlin, older and a little worse for wear, but still just Merlin and every time their eyes meet, Arthur feels the pleasant fluttering in his stomach that he hasn't felt in ages. It feels like a _date_ (it's not, Arthur tells himself, Merlin still pretty much hates him and Arthur's still married for god's sake).

 

“So is _how have you been_ too all-encompassing of a question?” Merlin asks, taking a sip of his tea.

 

Arthur laughs. “A little, yeah.”

 

Merlin points at Arthur's hand on the table between them with a finger. “Married?” he asks. Arthur wishes he could still read the tone of Merlin's voice.

 

“Erm, yes,” he answers. “To Gwen, actually.”

 

“Oh! Well, congratulations to you both,” Merlin says, nodding. This time Arthur can read the hurt in the set of Merlin's lips.

 

“We have two kids. Adopted, obviously,” he adds.

 

“ _Obviously_? You could have had your own from what I remember,” Merlin says with a deceptive smile. Arthur can't help the redness the spreads over his cheeks. He looks away. “So, your kids,” Merlin questions. When Arthur looks over, the fake smile is gone.

 

“Uh, yeah. Morgause— Don't even, Morgana named her! Morgause is 8 and Mordred is 5.”

 

“Wow,” Merlin says. “I missed a lot, didn't I?”

 

“Not by choice,” Arthur replies immediately, his voice dropping a little. “Look, I'm—“

 

“Don't,” Merlin stops him. “Just... Tell me about your life. That's all I wanna hear about right now.”

 

“Okay,” Arthur agrees. “I work with this great woman, Mithian, we've been experimenting with artificial limbs and stem cells. She's babysitting my fake legged rabbit right now, actually.”

 

Merlin smiles at him cryptically. “That's your work, Arthur. Your work which I have been following for years, might I add.” Arthur didn't know that. “That's not what I care about.”

 

“You're right,” Arthur concedes. “But work is important to me.”

 

“I get that,” Merlin allows. “Work is everything to me.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“Well, work and Alfie.” Arthur raises his eyebrows. “My turtle,” Merlin explains. “Oh, and Gaius occasionally wants to have tea with me. It's a perfect opportunity for him to lecture me about everything that I'm doing wrong with my life.”

 

“That's it? No one else in your life?” Arthur asks. He knows he's not supposed to hope for a negative answer and he knows it's not something to be happy about, but he still crosses his fingers under the table.

 

“No one permanent,” Merlin replies. “Not since Gwaine.”

 

“Oh?” Arthur prompts, not sure which part of that answer he's prodding about or whether he really wants to know. He hasn't seen or heard from Gwaine in years; Gwaine was, as far as Arthur knows, the only one from their group of friends who stuck with Merlin. Arthur is glad for it – Gwaine is a great guy and him and Merlin had hit it off really well. And way back when, Arthur could always tell himself that he didn't take away _all_ of Merlin's friends; it was a small comfort.

 

“Yeah, we dated on and off. Mostly off towards the end, to be honest.” Arthur can sense something is wrong, sees it in Merlin's face. Uncertainly, he decides to push it.

 

“Towards the end?”

 

“Gwaine's dead, Arthur,” Merlin replies. Arthur's mouth falls open. “January last year.”

 

“Oh my god, I... I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

 

“I wanted to let you know, but obviously by then... I'd lost contact with everyone.”

 

There's no real accusation in Merlin's voice, either because he's past blaming Arthur or because that's not on his mind right now. Either way, it gives Arthur the kind of courage he didn't realize he still had when it came to Merlin. He reaches over and touches the back of Merlin's hand with his fingers.

 

“What happened?” he asks.

 

“He was stabbed. We were supposed to meet at a bar, my consultations with students ran late and he was waiting for me.” Arthur has to consciously force himself not to look away from Merlin. He sees in Merlin's eyes the kind of guilt he carries with him, the misplaced feeling of having indirectly caused a loved one's death through some stupid choices. It gives him a whole new perspective on how it must be for his friends when they look at him. “There was a fight and he tried to break it up and... someone stabbed him. He bled out on the way to the hospital. By the time I got there, it was all over.” Merlin blinks rapidly, looking up. Arthur lets his fingers twine with Merlin's.

 

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he says earnestly.

 

“Yeah.” Merlin looks at their joint hands on the table, but doesn't try to pull his away. “What about everyone else? Gwen married you, obviously; what about Morgana, Lancelot and everyone else?”

 

Arthur takes a sip of his coffee to buy himself enough time to figure out how to respond. He starts with the easy ones. “Well, Morgana and Leon are married. Elyan's moved to the States.” He bites his lip. “And I haven't talked to Lancelot in years. Almost as long as I haven't spoken to you.”

 

Merlin snorts. “Damn, Arthur, you get all the kids in the divorce and you still managed to screw up.” Arthur reels back, letting go of Merlin's hand. Merlin reaches out, then seems to think better of it and retracts his hand. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean that.”

 

“Yeah, you did,” Arthur replies. He doesn't try to defend himself, though. Something occurs to him. “You didn't tell anyone your side of the story,” he says, a statement of fact he's pretty sure. It's something he's been curious about for a long time.

 

“Why would I? It would've made you look like a jerk and it would've forced our friends to take sides. That's not what I wanted.”

 

 _But I_ was _a jerk_ , Arthur wants to say. He clears his throat and decides to change the topic. “What about your mom? How is she?”

 

“Ironically, she died of lung cancer,” Merlin says, bowing his head a little so Arthur can't see his face. “Really made me rethink my smoking habits,” he tries to joke, but Arthur knows it's just deflection. “Your dad?”

 

“Heart attack. Seven years ago,” Arthur replies flatly. He used to refuse to talk about it, and then he went through a phase where he physically could not talk about it without starting to cry, but now it's just another fact about his life. Merlin doesn't express sympathy, but that's okay; Arthur didn't expect him to, Merlin hated his father after all.

 

“Have we burnt through all conversation topics already?” Merlin asks. He probably means it as a rhetorical question, but Arthur can't not react, can't leave things be as they are, not again.

 

“Actually, we haven't.”

 

“Don't,” Merlin warns. This time, Arthur ignores him.

 

“What I did,” Arthur says, “I... I don't know what I was thinking.”

 

“Arthur, please,” Merlin hisses.

 

“I can't even justify it from this perspective. I'm sorry, I truly am,” he says honestly.

 

Merlin's eyes flash with anger. “Damn it, Arthur,” he says quietly. It's not the reaction Arthur wanted, because _this_ is Merlin at his most dangerous, quiet and controlled and knowing exactly where to strike for the strongest impact. Arthur only hesitates a moment before meeting Merlin's eyes – whatever Merlin has to throw at him, Arthur deserves and he knows it. Oddly, though, as soon as their eyes meet, Merlin's shoulders relax and he seems to deflate. When he speaks, he doesn't sound angry anymore – he sounds broken. “Why do you do this, Arthur? Why must you make everything difficult?”

 

“I'm just trying to...” He doesn't know how to finish. What is he trying to do? Apologize? Atone? Reconnect? He lets the sentence trail.

 

“I was fine with you coming here,” Merlin says, shaking his head. “I figured, it's just a few days and you'd be gone. But then you just had to show up in _my_ class, and you had to stay longer and now you're _apologizing_!” He rubs his forehead, frowning like he's getting a headache. Arthur can relate. “You hurt me, Arthur. A lot.” Arthur knows it, has always known, but to have it laid out in front of him so plain and simple feels horrible. “Whenever I look at you, I _should_ remember that, I should run in the opposite direction. But you know what the infuriating thing is? I see you and I remember the _good_ things. I look at you and see someone I want in my life. And I'd take you back in the blink of an eye.”

 

Arthur stares at Merlin, stunned into silence. It's all he's wanted to hear all along, it's an offer, a chance to make things right, to make the life he's secretly dreamed about into reality. It's an opportunity to get Merlin back, which is so much more than he could ever realistically hope for.

 

Merlin bites his bottom lip and looks down at Arthur's hands. Arthur follows his gaze to his wedding ring. His heart sinks.

 

“I should go,” Merlin says, already getting up. He should, Arthur thinks, still mortified at the fact that he got so lost in Merlin he forgot the two of them weren't the only relevant players in this game.

 

But as he watches Merlin navigate his way between tables, chairs and waiters, he realizes something – he _can't_ let Merlin walk away.

 

“Wait!” he calls. Merlin freezes, waits a few seconds and then, just as Arthur is giving up, he turns around. “We can talk about something else. Work,” Arthur suggests desperately.

 

Merlin looks indecisive for a few more seconds before he comes back, pulls his chair out again and flops down into it. “How has teaching been for you?” he asks.

 

~*~

 

_part 4: press my nose up, to the glass around your heart_

 

~*~

 

“ _Yeah, Deaton says that I can start working full time as soon as next month_ ,” Lancelot told him.

 

“Damn, that's fast,” Arthur replied distractedly. He saved the presentation he was making and closed the window. His e-mail inbox was still empty.

 

“ _Any news on that research proposal of yours?”_ Lancelot asked, like he could sense what Arthur was doing.

 

“Nope.”

 

“ _Oh well. Relax, I'm sure you'll get in.”_

 

“Yeah, I'm sure I _can_ get in. Father had better not be messing with this,” Arthur said bitterly. The Oxford organized project he'd decided to use for his dissertation was a dream come true and there was little Arthur wasn't willing to do to ensure participation, but he wanted to get there on his own merit. He submitted a CV that did not include his medical records and he explicitly told his father not to pull any strings. He'd questioned those decisions a few times since then, but it was important to him to stick to his guns.

 

“ _Well, even if he is, there's nothing you can do about it, is there now?”_ Lancelot reasoned. It didn't make Arthur feel any better, though. _“So, just, I don't know. Don't think about it? Tell me how things are between you and Merlin!”_

 

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Yeah, things are fine. They're great.”

 

“ _Yeah?”_

 

Arthur's laptop pinged. He refreshed his e-mail. There was a new message there. Arthur hovered over the e-mail subject. It was carefully phrased not to give him any hints about the outcome of his application.

 

“ _So are you guys still seeing each other? I mean how does it even work now?”_

 

Arthur closed his eyes. He thought about telling Lancelot that he hadn't spoken to Merlin since he left Cambridge more than three months ago, that he didn't know what the fuck was wrong with him and why he made the stupid decisions he made. He thought about trying to explain himself to Lancelot, because Merlin was Lancelot's friend too, but he didn't _have_ an explanation. Every time he picked up his phone to call Merlin, to text him or send him an e-mail, _anything_ , he would become completely overcome with some irrational but undeniable dread and shame. And he'd give in. And he'd put the phone away.

 

He thought about continuing to lie to Lancelot, pretending everything was fine. It wasn't like he hadn't already imagined all the possible ways in which he could stay in touch with Merlin, it wasn't like he hadn't already planned dates and conversations with Merlin, it wasn't like he hadn't already lived them all out in his head. But it hurt to even think about it because it made him realize every single thing he'd done wrong.

 

He clicked with his eyes still closed and opened the e-mail. He wasn't as happy as he felt someone who just got into the most prestigious doctorate programs ever should have. “I'm in,” he told Lancelot to avoid answering his questions.

 

~*~

 

Merlin stretches out over Arthur's bed. He looks younger, clean-shaven and smiling and relaxed. “Come on,” he says, patting the bed, “Join me.”

 

Even as he reaches over to the bed and helps Merlin pull him onto it, Arthur is sure this is a bad idea. But Merlin's hand lingers on his waist and he doesn't say anything.

 

“I wish they hadn't replaced the beds,” Merlin says, relaxing back into the pillows.

 

“Pretty sure they had to.”

 

“Still. I was attached to that bed!”

 

“You're telling me!” Arthur replies. “I lost my virginity in that bed.”

 

“Well, technically you didn't,” Merlin argues, “you'd slept with people before me.”

 

“Not with guys,” Arthur counters.

 

“Yeah, I figured that.”

 

“Hey! I wasn't that bad. Was I?”

 

Merlin smiles. “No, quite the contrary. You were good.”

 

Unthinkingly, Arthur reaches out to trace the side of Merlin's face with his finger. As soon as he realizes what he's doing, he pulls his hand back and clears his throat. “Remember when we walked in on Morgana and... what was his name anyway?”

 

Merlin holds Arthur's gaze for a second too long, his expression unreadable. Then he seems to shake off whatever he was feeling and smiles. “How could I forget? I was scarred for life.”

 

“I remember that one time we had a fight... I don't even know what we were fighting about anymore, but you didn't want to sleep in the same bed.”

 

“Ah, yes. Only my bed was always covered in stuff because we weren't using it!”

 

“You slept on my notes! I swear they smelled like you afterwards!” Arthur laughs.

 

“What about the first time I realized you were having nightmares?”

 

“I hated you for waking up. For finding out,” Arthur admits.

 

“That was the first time, this is gonna sound really stupid but, that was the first time it even crossed my mind that you were...”

 

“Messed up?” Arthur offers.

 

“For lack of a better expression,” Merlin agrees.

 

“We weren't together yet then.”

 

“No, you were still deciding if you even tolerated me, if I recall correctly,” Merlin says. “But I woke up and you looked so _terrified_ , Arthur, I swear.”

 

Arthur thinks back to that night. “You didn't say anything, just gave me water and sat on the bed with me. You held my hand. I thought you were treating me like a child.”

 

“I just wanted to make you feel better.”

 

“You did,” Arthur replies. “I didn't want to tell you, but you did.”

 

“I wanted to kiss you,” Merlin confesses. “You were a total asshole to me,” Arthur laughs, “but that night I saw you as something more. There was something about you. There _is_ something about you.”

 

Arthur looks away uncomfortably. He traces his wedding ring with his thumb. The bed dips as Merlin rolls over. He puts a hand inappropriately low on Arthur's back. Against all better judgment, Arthur leans into it.

 

“Do you still have them? The nightmares?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“You have to stop blaming yourself, Arthur,” Merlin says quietly, his fingers dancing over Arthur's spine.

 

“Easier said than done,” Arthur murmurs.

 

“Yeah. I get that now.”

 

~*~

 

The cafe was small and cozy. The walls were paneled with dark wood and the chairs were tastefully mismatched, making it look like it was someone's dining room. It had the kind of intimate feel and comfortable aesthetic that was exactly what Gwen liked. Arthur preferred sleek, light and spacious areas, the kind of modern, minimalistic, pragmatic chic that reminded him of a place of work, rather than a place of living. But he'd missed Gwen so much that he was happy to meet her anywhere she wanted.

 

He was seated by the door, at a table with one chair removed. The waiter awkwardly spluttered to offer help every few seconds. Arthur took pity on him and placed an order before he sent him away as gently as he could. A few years ago, he wouldn't have had that amount of tact.

 

A warm hand on his shoulder startled him. He looked up. Gwen was smiling at him under a blue hoodie, snowflakes sticking to the few curls falling over her face. “Hey stranger,” she said.

 

“Gwen.”

 

She sat across from him. Arthur was well beyond the time where he instinctively started to get up to have her chair out for her or take her coat. He took a long sip of his tea. The nervous waiter was back. He took Gwen's order ( _hot chocolate with hazelnuts, it's really good, you should try it next time_ ), looked at Arthur like he was still some sort of novelty. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head and left. Arthur almost wanted to laugh at him.

 

“I didn't know you moved back here,” she commented. The waiter brought her chocolate over.

 

“Yeah, I just got an apartment last month.”

 

It felt weird telling her such basic things. He knew they hadn't quite been in good contact lately, but she was still one of his closest friends.

 

“It's nice to see you again.”

 

She was looking at him with such fondness, Arthur had to turn away. She was always so understanding to him, so kind. Arthur didn't feel like he deserved it.

 

“It's good to see you to,” he told her, looking back up at her face. She was still smiling, a small, but warm and genuine smile. He'd always thought she was beautiful, but not having seen her in months made him see her as a completely new person. He reached out and put his hand over her on the table.

 

~*~

 

“Thank God your building has an elevator,” Arthur says, letting Merlin push his chair inside.

 

“Tell me about it, I would've had to carry you up four floors,” Merlin replies, throwing his keys at the nearby coffee table. “And thank God you got a nice pet student who doesn't meddle in your personal life.” He gestures around the apartment, saying, “It's a little small and cramped, so let me know if you need any help.”

 

Arthur hums in response, too busy looking around to reply properly. From where he is, he can only see the living room and the kitchen, the hallway leading towards a closed door.

 

Merlin sits into the armchair next to him, folds his legs under himself and leans to the side, closer to Arthur. “Oh, sorry, did you want anything?”

 

“No, I'm fine,” Arthur says, turning towards Merlin. Merlin's face is quite close. “You have a nice place.” He does think it's nice, he just also thinks it's a little impersonal. There's clear evidence that someone lives there, but they could be most anyone in the world. The only trace of _Merlin_ in the apartment are the few framed photos scattered around.

 

Merlin raises an eyebrow at Arthur. “But?” he asks.

 

“I don't know, are you selling it?”

 

Merlin snorts. “No. Why?”

 

“It's a little... bare?”

 

Merlin looks around before leaning even closer towards Arthur. “Ah, yes. It was better while Gwaine was still living here. I... have sort of given up.”

 

Arthur's first thought is that Merlin looks like he's given up on more than just his apartment, but he doesn't mention that. He can't escape the feeling that all of this is his fault, that he is to blame for Merlin's life not working out the way he planned, for Merlin being alone, for Merlin not caring about any of it.

 

“I know what you're thinking,” Merlin says.

 

“Do you?” Arthur considers moving away as Merlin is well in his personal space, but Merlin's eyes have always had a hypnotic effect on him at this small a distance.

 

“You're blaming yourself,” Merlin guesses, a lopsided smile on his face.

 

“Am I wrong?”

 

Merlin doesn't answer. Instead he comes even closer, one of his hands stroking over Arthur's knee. Arthur knows what is about to happen, and yet it still catches him by surprise when their lips meet. It's a soft and gentle touch and Merlin gives him more than enough time to pull away. He doesn't, opting to deepen the kiss instead. It's only then that Merlin closes his eyes.

 

It's all that Arthur remembers and more. It's Merlin knowing to ease into the kiss, it's Merlin remembering to scrape his teeth over Arthur's lips, it's Merlin's hand on the back of Arthur's neck. It's the noise Merlin makes when it starts, and Arthur's hand fisted in the front of Merlin's shirt. And it's Arthur pulling back, against what every fiber of his being wants.

 

“I have to go,” he says, his voice breaking. Merlin doesn't try to stop him, which is good because Arthur doesn't know what he would do if Merlin asked him to say.

 

~*~

 

Arthur tried not to take the rejection personally, but it wasn't easy when his best friend was refusing to be his best man. He opened his mouth to protest, but Lancelot beat him to it, slamming his hand down on the kitchen table. “What were you thinking, Arthur!?”

 

Thrown for a loop, Arthur forgot what he was about to say.

 

“You asked her to _marry_ you? Have you completely lost your mind?”

 

Arthur was honestly and genuinely baffled. He knew Lancelot had a thing for Gwen, he knew they'd dated a while ago, but he thought they were both over it. Clearly he was wrong. “Look, I didn't realize this would be awkward for you. I thought you and Gwen were done!”

 

Lancelot took a step back, putting more distance between them. “This isn't about that.”

 

“Then what is it about!? Because I can't really think of that many reasons for why my best friend wouldn't want me to marry the woman I love!”

 

“And _that_ is the problem,” Lancelot said bitterly. “You _don't_ love her.”

 

Arthur's first reaction was anger. Which was good, really, since he probably would have panicked if he'd actually thought Lancelot had him figured out. “How dare you?” he hissed.

 

“How dare _I_? You're making the mistake of your life!” Lancelot shouted. “And, hey, if you want to ruin your own life, go ahead. But why would you drag Gwen into this?”

 

And that was it. Arthur was done, he was sick of people assuming he couldn't do things, he was sick of people telling him he wasn't good enough. He didn't expect Lancelot to be one of those people. “So what you're saying is that I'm not good enough for her?”

 

“No, Arthur,” Lancelot replied, much quieter and calmer now. “I think you will be a great husband one day. To someone else. I'm saying you're not _right_ for her.”

 

“And you are?” Arthur threw back in his face.

 

“Maybe!” Even in the heat of the moment, Arthur had to give Lancelot props for owning up to what he thought; Arthur had always appreciated honesty. “But we'll never know! Because she cares about you and as long as you're leading her on, she'll stay by you because loyal is the kind of person Gwen is!”

 

“I'm not leading her on.”

 

Lancelot put both of his hands out slowly, placatingly even, like he was talking to a child who was being unreasonable. Arthur had a feeling he wouldn't like whatever Lancelot was about to say. “Arthur, I'm only gonna say this once: _call Merlin_.” Arthur gasped, his heart dropping to his stomach and something cold spreading through his whole body. “Look, you haven't been the same since you two broke up and I know how much he means to you. Whatever happened between you two, I'm sure you can wor—“

 

“Get out,” Arthur said coldly.

 

~*~

 

He should be staying away. Any reasonable person could see that. But Arthur doesn't feel like being reasonable. He feels like being excited, he feels like being in love, he feels like being _alive_. So he doesn't stay away.

 

“I was almost sure you'd run back home,” Merlin says, locking the door to his classroom.

 

“I did run. Or as close as,” Arthur admits.

 

“You came back.”

 

“I want us to... be friends,” Arthur says. The truth is that he wants more, that he's always wanted more, but he accepts that he can no longer have that. Well, he tries to accept, at least.

 

“Mmhm,” Merlin replies, smirking a little. “We can do that. Or...” He licks his lips suggestively.

 

“Or nothing,” Arthur says before Merlin can change his mind.

 

“Alright,” Merlin agrees. “Friends, then.” His hand stroking the side of Arthur's neck in passing says otherwise. Arthur doesn't point that out.

 

~*~

 

Gwen settled in next to him with a glass of wine. She started the movie and leaned into Arthur's side when he hugged her. Her hair smelled of lavender.

 

“Can I just ask, why are we watching _Harry Potter_ again? You can practically reenact the movies yourself by now.”

 

“I can't _practically_ reenact it, I _can_ reenact it!” Gwen replied. Arthur would have believed the offence in her voice if he hadn't known better. “And it reminds me of my childhood. Besides, it's my birthday, I get to choose what we watch!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Arthur conceded as the Privet Drive showed up on the screen in front of them. He leaned his head against Gwen's and made his piece with sitting through a marathon of Daniel Radcliffe growing up.

 

Somewhere around the time Ron fell off his chess horse, Gwen sat up, the top of her head knocking against Arthur's chin, disturbing him from the pleasant almost-slumber he had fallen into.

 

“Have you ever thought about kids?” she asked. “I was just remembering my father taking me to the premiere of the last _Harry Potter_ movie and... I want make some more of those memories. From the other side, this time.”

 

Arthur was so far from ready for this conversation. “Um, no, I can't say I've given it any serious thought,” he said.

 

“Don't get all diplomatic with me,” Gwen chided, pinching Arthur's arm where it was still resting around her shoulders. “Honestly. Can you imagine us with kids?”

 

“I can imagine a lot of things,” Arthur replied, trying not to say anything he'd regret. He pictured a baby's crying waking him up and Gwen having to get up because he couldn't. He imagined not being able to teach his son soccer. He thought about looking at a child and seeing them smile with unconditional love.

 

“Arthur, don't think, just answer: do you _want_ children?”

 

“Yes,” Arthur said, but before he could get roped into anything and before Gwen could get her hopes up, he felt that he needed to point out a few things. “You'd be doing a lot of the work alone,” he warned.

 

“Oh, so like any mother.”

 

“We'd probably have to adopt.”

 

“I'm fine with that.”

 

“How long have you been thinking about this!?” Arthur asked, laughing.

 

“Well, maybe a little while,” Gwen admitted, looking at him from under her lashes. “Okay, maybe more than a little while.”

 

Arthur watched her face carefully. He knew she would never force him to do something this important, but he also saw in her eyes that she wanted this.

 

“Can I think about this some time when Voldemort is not shrieking in my ear?”

 

~*~

 

Arthur should have known, really, as soon as he saw Merlin at his door with a bottle of cheap red wine in his hand. Now, three hours later and both Merlin's wine and Arthur's whiskey gone, Merlin is stumbling towards the bed and Arthur is regretting his life choices. Merlin trips over his own feet, braces himself on Arthur's shoulder and then seems to give up, letting himself fall on Arthur's lap. Arthur tries to move away and minimize the contact, but it's not like he has anywhere to go (it's not like he's _really_ trying).

 

“Oops,” Merlin says, sitting up to be face to face with Arthur, his lips brushing over Arthur's cheek in the process. He doesn't sound sorry at all.

 

“What are you doing?” Arthur slurs.

 

“Nothing,” Merlin replies readily, grimacing over-dramatically.

 

“You're in my lap,” Arthur points out.

 

“Mmm, that I am,” Merlin murmurs into Arthur's ears, rolling his hips slowly. He presses in so close Arthur can feel the bulge in Merlin's jeans against his lower belly. He hasn't felt that in so long that he's almost forgotten how good it feels. Merlin rubs his face against Arthur's neck, the light stubble scratching over Arthur's skin; it's unfair, Arthur thinks, because he's always loved that feeling and Merlin knows it and Merlin is not playing _fair_ and Arthur moves his head to the side to expose more of his neck.

 

“You're taking advantage. I'm drunk and you know me and you,” he wants to sound accusing; it's not his best performance especially when Merlin bites down on his jaw and Arthur moans, “You are taking advantage.”

 

“Guilty,” Merlin admits. Arthur can feel him grinning. Merlin squirms until he's kneeling over Arthur's lap, his legs pressing against the armrests of Arthur's chair and Arthur really has no place to put his hands other than Merlin's thighs (or so he tells himself).

 

“Do you not suffer from the whiskey dick syndrome like the rest of us mortals?” Arthur asks, trying to break the sexual tension he could probably cut with a knife.

 

“Only because I've been waiting for this for too long. You're looking at 15 years of sexual frustration right here,” Merlin says, not budging an inch away from Arthur.

 

There isn't a place on Arthur's body where he can't feel Merlin – Merlin's ass is snuggly pressed against Arthur's crotch and there's virtually no space between their upper bodies; Merlin is rubbing his cheek against Arthur and Merlin's hands are roaming over Arthur's face and through his hair. Arthur runs his hands up Merlin's thighs absently. His mind is just fuzzy enough that he can still excuse turning his head just that tiniest bit and bring their mouths together.

 

It's different this time, no patience and no finesse, fast and sloppy and wet and Arthur can't get enough. Merlin is like a cat, his whole body moving fluidly against Arthur as he rubs himself on Arthur's stomach and if Arthur could he'd be pushing up against him by now. Instead he grabs at Merlin's wrist and guides his hand lower. He catches their hands in the corner of his eye, the golden glint of his wedding ring. He lets go of Merlin as if burnt.

 

“Shit, we can't do this,” he says, turning his head away when Merlin tries to kiss him again. “No, Merlin, I'm serious, we can't.”

 

Merlin grunts, his head falling to Arthur's shoulder. “Come on,” he moans. “You know you want this.”

 

Arthur runs his finger over his wedding ring. “I'm married.”

 

“An unfortunate, but not insurmountable setback.” Arthur gives Merlin the most incredulous face he can manage to pull. Merlin makes a dissatisfied noise, but he settles back on Arthur's knees, putting some distance between them. “Fine,” he sighs. “I'll drop it. If you tell me one thing. Are you happy?”

 

“I have a life,” Arthur replies, belatedly realizing that he's falling right into Merlin's clever little trap. If he hadn't been there to witness it, Arthur would be wondering if Merlin had actually been drinking.

 

“So do I. But are you happy?”

 

It's an easy question, Arthur thinks, it should be an easy answer, a simple _yes_ that would solve this whole mess he's in the middle of. It's a word he's said countless times before, yet now he can't remember how to pronounce it. “I'm not unhappy,” he says instead.

 

“But you're not happy either,” Merlin deduces.

 

Knowing he can't win, Arthur decided not to argue. “And I would be with you?” he asks sarcastically. It's only after the words leave his mouth that he realizes what he said.

 

“Yeah. You would,” Merlin says simply. He brings their foreheads together. Arthur has to close his eyes. “I want you, Arthur,” Merlin whispers, “and so help me, I'm not giving up without a fight this time.”

 

They're close again and Arthur can smell the alcohol on Merlin's breath and then he can taste it as well. “Fuck it,” he murmurs against Merlin's lips, his hands gripping Merlin's hips.

 

~*~

 

Arthur checked his watch as he waited for the green light. He was cutting it close to his latest interview, but he could still make it if his luck with traffic lights just turned. He huffed, frustrated, looking right, then left, wondering if he could rush across without being hit (he couldn't). He was tapping his fingers on the armrest when he noticed him. A tall skinny guy walking down the street, his back to Arthur. His dark hair was messy and his coat was worn and there was a plaid blue scarf around his neck and Arthur knew, he could _swear_ he knew. He didn't even think about it, he turned to follow, but when he looked again, the man was gone. Arthur stared at the corner where he last saw him until the green light had come and passed and he was most definitely late. A part of him still wanted to follow.

 

~*~

 

Merlin is going through the family photos on Arthur's laptop. Arthur is leaning against his side, his fingers splayed carelessly over Merlin's upper thigh; he studies Merlin's face. In the unnatural light of the laptop screen, Merlin's skin is even paler and he looks like a ghost. For the first time Arthur can see up close how much older Merlin really looks, the bags under his eyes and the barely there frown lines. Arthur runs his lips over the clear lines of Merlin's ribs, making Merlin laugh and push him away gently.

 

“You're tickling me,” he complains. Arthur does it again just to hear Merlin laugh. “Stop it,” Merlin says, putting the laptop away to the floor so he can get on top of Arthur and grab both of his wrists to force them over his head. “Hmm, now what am I gonna do with you,” he tuts. “So many options, so little time,” he says, glancing at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand.

 

Arthur, however, thinks of something else. “Less than a month till the end of the semester,” he blurts.

 

Merlin moans and lets go of Arthur's arms. “Seriously? You had to do that _now_?”

 

“Sorry! Sorry,” Arthur said, waving his arms around. “I just... That's not a lot of time. What are we doing here, Merlin?”

 

“We _were_ about to have sex.”

 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I'm serious. What happens when I leave?”

 

A shadow crosses over Merlin's face. Arthur averts his eyes. “I wouldn't know,” Merlin says coldly. “What happens when you leave?”

 

Arthur chews on his bottom lip. He hasn't thought about that, hasn't even surmised all his options, let alone made a choice.

 

“Gaius wouldn't be opposed to an early retirement,” Merlin says.

 

“I'd have to spend even more time here.”

 

“Exactly,” Merlin confirms.

 

“I can't move here permanently!”

 

“Well, not _here_ , you'd get an apartment.”

 

“Gwen has a job, Morgause and Mordred are in school, I can't just,” Arthur makes a face, “uproot my family's whole life!”

 

Merlin throws his leg back over Arthur's and sits next to him again, his arms crossed. “Not your family that I want,” he says.

 

“Are you asking me to leave Gwen?” Arthur sits up, rubbing his jaw. His lungs feel like they're three times smaller than they should be, the shock taking all the air out of him. “After only a few weeks?”

 

“No, I'm asking you to stay with me after putting me through hell for 15 years.” Arthur doesn't even know how to react to that, but luckily he doesn't have to, because Merlin continues, “I'm asking you to stay. Because you'll be happier if you do.”

 

“It's not that easy,” Arthur counters; he can't believe Merlin doesn't see it.

 

“No, it really is,” Merlin says simply.

 

“If you think Gwen will just go with this little plan of yours—“

 

“I don't! I think she will be hurt and I think she will hate my guts until the day she dies and I think your children will resent me and I think everyone will have to adapt, and that's perfectly fine with me.” Arthur looks sideways at Merlin's face; Merlin is dead serious. “I can be the bad guy. If it means I get to have you, I can be whatever the fuck I need to be.”

 

“I married Gwen for the wrong reasons,” Arthur admits, “but I still care about her. I can't be so blasé about hurting her, and quite honestly, I'm shocked that you can. She was your friend!”

 

“And she is _wonderful_ ,” Merlin says, turning to look Arthur in the eye. “But what you don't seem to get it that there is little I wouldn't do for you. It's not that I don't care. I just don't care _enough_ for it to be more important than being with you.”

 

~*~

 

Gwen slipped under the covers, snuggling up to Arthur's back, her arm snaking around his waist. She kissed the back of Arthur's neck and scratched at his belly gently. He put his hand over hers, but didn't turn around.

 

“I'm tired,” he said.

 

“I thought it was supposed to be women who excused themselves with that,” Gwen replied, kissing him again.

 

“Guess we're not exactly a typical couple.”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Gwen agreed. The bed squeaked as she presumably moved to lie on her back. Arthur couldn't feel the warmth of her body near him anymore. “Arthur, be straight with me. Is something wrong?” she asked.

 

“No,” Arthur said honestly.

 

“So, you're just... not interested.”

 

Arthur opened his mouth to correct her, but the truth was that she was right. And that she probably knew it. He felt awful for turning her down so often, for making her doubt herself because he knew what that felt like. He promised himself to make it up to her. He vowed to start working on his marriage.

 

~*~

 

“Wait, so are you thinking about taking the job?” Gwen asks incredulously. “Arthur!”

 

“I— It's a good job. I like it here. I want to think about it.” He tries to keep his eyes on the image of Gwen's face on his screen. The fact that they're not doing this in person was supposed to make it easier, but it doesn't.

 

“Arthur, my father is sick. He can't take care of two children on his own!” Gwen reasons.

 

“I know! Which is why we would have to work something else out. I'm just thinking about it, I haven't decided yet,” he says. It feels like a lie.

 

“We need you here. The kids miss you. _I_ miss you.”

 

Arthur sighs. “I know,” he says. Wrong answer, judging by the way Gwen's looks at him, her lips parting and her eyebrows creasing together. She looks like she's about to cry. Arthur remembers a time when that would've made him feel a lot worse than it does now. It's still difficult to see.

 

Gwen visibly collects herself, putting on a polite smile that makes Arthur feel like they're more distant than they've ever been. “Well, if this is what you really want, I'll support you. I wish we'd had more time to prepare, but I'll take care of everything somehow.”

 

“I just feel like... I've got something here, something important.”

 

“More important than your family?”

 

Arthur looks at the door to his room where Merlin is leaning against the doorframe. “I don't know yet,” he says honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sorry i'll continue as soon as i can????
> 
> thanks again to my lovely beta and my amazing artist (make sure to visit her and leave a comment), and thank you all for reading ^^


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